One of the fun aspects of traveling is to return home to family and friends to recognize that many, many things have changed and a few very important things have not. Community and friends are exceptionally important. I was blown away by the support of the Grace Marin Church community and by the friendships that seemed to blossom despite distance and time.
Althea is one such friend from the Marin Co-Ed Soccer league. She is a dominant force on the field and commands respect with her controlled, strong, play, e.g. great ball skill and she's not afraid to acquaint anyone with a solid shoulder charge.
So when I loosely threw out the idea of climbing Mt. Shasta on returning to California and she agreed, there was no doubt she could hold her own.
The two and a half day trip turned out to be much more than a simple climb. We left San Francisco about 4:00pm on a Friday. Naively, choosing the devil I didn't know (the East Bay route North) over the devil I did know (101 North to HW37) was almost a terminal decision. On a good day the trip to Mt. Shasta should take a little over four hours. Over three hours later and it was time to pull out of the fourwheel sludge for dinner in Vacaville.
Jumping back on the road about an hour later brought some relief as the traffic was actually moving at a decent clip. As Althea napped and the sun dipped down, one thing was beginning to be notably missing, well actually two things. I had brought my car to Circuit City to replace the dead radio, which they seemed to accomplish, but the antennae didn't raise and it was now becoming very apparent that the craftsmanship on the wiring was really in doubt. There was no headlight reflection in the bumpers of the cars ahead of me and this was a real problem.
We pulled off to get gas in Willows, only to confirm that the main headlights were totally absent. The good news was that the side running lights were lit and if you pulled the hi-beams arm the bulbs flared, but there was no way driving to Shasta tonight was possible as the hi-beams would not "click" into place and released immediately without constant pressure. With no protest, Althea took the wheel and we drove to a local campground, shared with partying teenage locals, for a fun evening of cards and left over pizza, combined with attempts at sleep.
Daylight brought an enormous breakfast at the Black Bear Diner and then we were ready to get serious about climbing Mt. Shasta. The remaining drive seemed almost non-existent and before you knew it, armed with crampons, helmets, ice axes, and the ever-important burrito, we were ready to start the climb. One final “gear check” at the car, a picture with a random kid...
... and we were off for the short hour hike to Horse Camp, a Sierra Club station.
Climbing this time of year is exceptionally painful, with the ice pulled back behind Elizabeth Lake. Three and a half hours of scree climbing fun stood between us and our camping spot for the night. The drag with scree, or loose rock that has broken off and accumulated is that for every two steps forward, gravity pulls you one step back. Traction is a constant slipping game. We were really looking forward to getting on the solid footing and traction of ice trekking with crampons.
Elizabeth Lake can be a very windy bivwack, so previous hikers had erected stone walls to help block out the wind. Fortunately, the setting sun only brought a burrito-fest for dinner and mild outbursts of wind occasionally shaking the tent.
Looking above the Lake Elizabeth campsite gave us a preview of just how many hours of scree climbing remained for tomorrow before finally reaching the ice.
Three in the morning came earlier than expected but really shouldn't have been a surprise. Pulling together just enough water, food, and gear to summit we were onto the scree slopes by three-forty-five. I was really glad that the dark hid the heights of scree we would need to cover prior to reaching the ice.
Scree is one of those obstacles that simply wears and wears at your psyche. We were both plenty physically strong for the hike, but the drag of scree can get defeating after droning hour after hour. Finally reaching the ice's edge a quick decision was made to get onto the surface as quickly as possible, instead of trudging further up the mountain to a broader section of glacier. This decision was not a bad one and just required being extra careful of "break through" into the waiting vacuoles below. The ice was really very hard in the cool of the darkness and the added attention helped to erase the mundane scree experience.
Given the relatively light winter precipitation accumulation and our ascent late in the season, the typical route "right of the heart" was practically closed due to rock fall. So we headed "left of the heart" and up to the steep thirty meter ice wall that separated us from the rest of the climb. Heading up the face with ice axe and toe picking crampons, my grip was not precarious but a little questionable as my crampons were designed more for long-term ice trekking as opposed to ice climbing. Althea scrambled up ahead, so I had some catching up to do.
Over the edge and we were just one false summit away from the actual peak. This was by far the most challenging physical section of the climb. The altitude starts to play a roll here. After a couple of hours of steep purchase climbing thighs and calves start to ache. In reality it is just a reasonably steep "walk-up".
After the false summit the actual peak is a little anticlimactic and a short twenty-minute stroll to sign the Summit Log.
The strong winds made for a "wind tunnel" capture of the moment.
Along the way the sun had risen providing some good warmth. The steady wind, combined with the sun's warmth, create some pretty awesome straw crystal ice formations. Just as the ice begins to melt, the droplet is blow by the wind extending the formation as the drop cools and refreezes.
The real excitement of the trip happened on the descent, after re-strapping our crampons.
The warmth of the sun had softened the ice crust all over the mountain.
This was not a problem, except for climbing back down the one ice face. Althea's saw-tooth ice climbing crampons cut through the softer outer inches of the slope to firm ice, while my shorter trekking crampons struggled to toe-in a hold. So Althea sunk her ice axe beneath me, as a foothold, then I would sink mine further to the right. Once I was hanging she would move her axe to the right. We repeated this process until under the rock shoots of the Red Banks. From there Althea made the great suggestion of glissading down the steeps and the remaining ice flow. This is basically a glorified "butt slide" with ice axe dragging to slow or arrest descent. After getting the hang of it, we made great progress.
With wet and sore hips and bums we were very happy to make it back to Elizabeth Lake and our camp for a snack of Thai Spice Kettle Chips. The race then began to get off the mountain. With the summit behind, we couldn't wait to get out of the constant struggle and monotony of the scree fields.
After returning to the car, the adventure wasn't over just yet. We had about six hours of daylight and still needed to return gear, get some food, and drive home. If everything ran perfectly we would just make it back to San Rafael before needing the absent headlights.
Our luck ran out by Lake Shasta. With one lane closed southbound on HW5 the traffic hung up for over an hour. We were literally racing the sun. It set behind the coastal range as we reached Vallejo. So we turned on the running lights and pushed on. Driving on HW 37 in the twilight we became aware and surprised at the number of cars running under the same lighting arrangement. Had that many cars gone to Circuit City? We made the final ten miles under sporadic hi-beam flashes and were ultimately happy to reach Mom's house to trade out the Volvo for her Camry.
Net, net it was a great trip, snags and all. Thankfully Althea was flexible, patient in many occassions, and just rolled with the stream of unexpected turns, not to mention getting me off of the ice on the descent.
