42069er Glacier Peak
8/5-8/8/2024
The 42069er is an elite challenge of my own creation. To complete one, an athlete must spend 4 days ascending at least 20,000’ and traveling at least 69 miles. An athlete may be on foot, bike, ski… etc, but must stick to a single discipline for the entire challenge. A 42069er can be completed anywhere and anytime. My dream is that one day 42069ers will usurp the humble marathon as king of bumper sticker brags.
Day 1- The Marathon
I shoved off at 4:20 am- obviously- trotting up FR49 to the North Fork Sauk TH. My car- parked at the Lost Creek Ridge TH- soon faded into the predawn darkness. After the eerie jaunt, I began my single track journey up the North Fork Sauk river, and then up to Pilot ridge. As I had hoped, the steep push to the ridge was behind me before light. Above the trees, the sunrise illuminated Sloan Peak, and the Kyes/Columbia/Monte Cristo cluster before me. Along the ridge I kept a good pace with high first-day stoke, excellent views and relatively flat terrain until I reached Blue Lake- an excellent spot for lunch. Here I had a beef jerky, hot sauce, and tortilla wrap– a delicacy in some regions of France. On the road again, I reached my junction with the PCT at Dishpan Gap (named for…?) and continued north. Had lots of fun playing “Through Hiker” for a few miles, then turned off at White Pass toward Marmot Knob, Glacier Gap, and eventually Glacier Peak itself.
At White Pass I had some slight aches and pains, and I was growing irritated until I got my first look at the glacial basin below the volcano itself. Miles of sparkly erratic with bright blue ponds sprinkled throughout. Covered in snow for most of the year, no trees or shrubs reside here– only some stout moss. Though my feet hurt, walking through the boulder field just below the toes of skeletal glaciers felt surreal. I chose one of the many dusty bivy sites, pitched my sack (lol), and hunkered down for the night with a beautiful view of Glacier Peak and tomorrow’s route before me. I was pleased to find I had traveled exactly one marathon on this first day.
Day 2- The Volcano
At 6 am I awoke and did not feel like getting up. Powering through the apathy, I packed my bag and shoved off toward Glacier peak. I proceeded slightly off route up and over Glacier Gap, then along a winding, gravely ridgeline to the base of the Disappointment Cleaver and Cool Glacier.
Both the Cleaver route and Cool route were on my radar. I had initially leaned toward the cleaver as I was solo and without proper glacier precautions, but seeing the steep, crumbly false summit made me reconsider. Additionally, a guided group the day before had informed me the glacier remained easily passable, despite some cracks. Ultimately I went with the Cool Glacier. Though the route was simple and not very steep, to my dismay the existing cracks were sneaky and more numerous than expected. I proceeded anyway with haste, hopping over thin, endlessly deep chasms, and with luck on my side made it to the snow-free final summit push. Thanks to the 8ozSFRB I slammed at this point, the final push was steep but easy. One could choose a well established boot pack up a small, lingering finger of snow, or a loose, dusty romp up the bare scree to its side. I chose a bit of both. At the top I enjoyed the views and met two fellas– Cooper and Logan– the only other party on the mountain that day to my knowledge. These young bucks– track stars at their college in Cali– had taken the cleaver up, and let me join them taking it back down. Amidst the most anxious portion of this solo trip, it was a relief to have some company and a nice chat for the descent. The cleaver ended up being not so bad, and in hindsight would have been the better choice for the climb. Another nice bonus, Logan is an elite photographer and hauled his nice-ass camera out to the peak, so I got some glamor shots along the way.
A few sunny hours later and I parted ways with the homies back at my bivy. I took a celebratory break, packed up, and shoved off again. I passed Cooper (mid pee) and Logan about to take a nap, and headed across the boulder field, around the horn, and onto the PCT north again. From this point the views were stunning and the vibe was mellow. I passed some through hikers and thought about how cool that journey would be. Maybe someday…
The day wore on and I plummeted into the valley of the White Chuck River. At 7pm my feet could not stand the descent any longer and I stopped for the night next to a dramatically-fractured bridge. My sleep was restless in the hot, small bivy sack as mosquitos inundated the thin netting around my face, buzzing ceaselessly and landing an occasional bite right through the fabric on my forehead.
Day 3- Old Man River
On the third day I rose again, even less willing to stir. I forced myself up at 6 am with several challenges on my mind. First, my dogs were barking like crazy with unusual aches and massive blisters. Next, I had a growing suspicion that crossing the White Chuck River would not be straight forward. A sign I briefly glanced two days earlier read “there is no bridge over Whitechuck River”. I had brashly ignored this information, thinking surely there was another way across. Now, additional signage suggested my desired trail may be decommissioned or lost all together. Mulling all of this over, I rushed to the junction to see what fate had in store. In my haste, I almost ran right into a black bear stretching its back on a tree as I plodded along, mindlessly listening to Jim Gaffigan comedy. Luckily the bear was non-combative. We gave each other a nod and peacefully parted ways. A forgotten-looking trail took me to the top of a massive landslide, at the bottom of which was the rushing river with no bridge. Some uncomfortable veggie scrambling got me to the water, and after scouring the bank for options, I decided on a sketchy, wet rock hop to see me across. Thankfully, luck was with me again and the crux move went off without a hitch. Now, however, I had to find the trail.
The path I sought–fittingly named Lost Creek Ridge– climbs several thousand feet to the ridgeline itself, then heads back, above the trees, toward my start/end point. Thus, I began to climb straight up the hillside until thankfully I found faint tread, and began to follow the path’s many switchbacks. I finished the ascent around 11am and took a much needed break at majestic Lake Byrne in “Little Siberia”- neat area, lots of fish in the lake. The stress of the morning had allowed me to ignore my foot pain so far, but now I felt like it could become a real issue. Despite the pain, the ridge was gorgeous in the sunshine and I felt serene going up, down and through the many small peaks and saddles. Sloan and the Monte Cristo group shone bright again, especially Sloan, making me eager to visit. An older couple I ran into had great success fishing the lakes along this trail (The lady told me she caught and ate three trout for dinner last night at Round Lake). It would indeed be a fantastic fishing/backpacking combo zone. Finally, the ridgeline came to an end and I made one more huge, uncomfortable descent back to my car. I cooked some ramen (nice to have something warm) and slept in my fire-hot car (still better than the bivy sack).
Day 4- The Dicker
With my main loop complete, only 6 miles and 3000’ of vert remained to finish the full 42069er. I went to the near-by Mt. Dickerson to reach my goal. My feet were so overwhelmed with blisters that I opted for socks and sandals today, and donned my best Ween shirt to finish in style. I walked up the steep hill with an awkward, pain-induced gait, and found a nice lookout 3 miles and 3000’ up. Dickerson had a cool view of Vesper peak, and I could even see “The Ragged Edge” rock climbing route up the north face. After soaking it all in, I began my final, and easily most painful, descent. Interestingly, the tendons on the top of my foot were hurting the most throughout the journey. Now at the end of it all, my knees finally began to give me trouble as well. Back at the car, I simply packed up and left. I was a little sad I didn’t get to cross through a finish line ribbon or get some sort of medal, and especially bummed there was no one to cheer me on through the end. Really, I realized doing this kind of event with someone else probably would have been more fulfilling. Either way, I am proud of myself and I think the 42069er in general is a fantastic challenge. I hope others will plan their own.
Mt. Baker
5/15/2024
My pal Kirk and I arrived at Heliotrope Ridge TH around 9 pm on 5/14. As is custom on our outings, Kirk and I snuggled into my classic 2008 Chevy Equinox for the night. Fortunately, I had recently crafted a proper sleeping platform for the back of my car, and we achieved a shockingly restful slumber. The alarm roused us at 2 am and I was delighted to find that my craftsmanship on the sleeping quarters had held strong under the weight of two grown men. Kirk immediately reached for a pre-made smoothie and started slurping away. He clearly didn’t realize how disturbing his mouth noises were at such a delicate time of day, and his ignorance put a damper on my morning. Thankfully I smashed down an 8ozSFRB and got my mind right again.
This would be our second go at Baker. On our first attempt the year before, snow covered much of the road forcing us to walk/skin an extra three miles. Thankfully our drive was snowless to the TH this time, and we shoved off at 2:50 am with shoes on our feet, skis on packs. We gained around 1500’ before hitting consistent snow and switching to skins.
Many cracks and crevasses were evident as we ascended, but navigating the obstacles was simple enough. The uneventful slog brought us to the bottom of the Roman headwall where we entered a thick layer of clouds– visibility decreased drastically. The wind was whipping hard. Conditions mirrored our attempt from the previous year and this was the spot we had turned around before on account of high winds and low vis. Unlike last time, however, the snow today had been pleasantly soft all morning, even before the sunrise. This, and crushing another quick 8ozSFRB, gave us (me) enough confidence to give the headwall a go. We ditched our skis, donned crampons, and began the final climb. The path was straight forward with only one crux at a steep bottleneck where I was happy to have an ice ax. On an icier day, I could imagine this push sucking mightily. Lucky for us, the snow conditions remained favorable and we confidently booted our way to the summit. We were the first party to the top of the day.
The wind persisted and whipped us with puzzlingly wet gusts. Though the sun began poking through the clouds around 9am, Kirk and I were soaked and growing shells of rime on our hair and clothes by the time we settled down for our summit snack. Finally we became too wet and cold to remain, and began our descent. Back down the headwall, we transitioned to skis (and snowboard) and began our shred mostly following the up track. The snow was ok– significantly softer than the ice sheet we skied a year ago. Nonetheless, the inevitable wind-scoured stretches here and there caused my skis to chatter and quads to burn. Below the glaciers the snow was warm, soft and sticky. The abrupt transition caught Kirk by surprise. He took a real good digger and tomahawked two full rotations. Luckily he did not fall on his ax. We took one final break at a rock outcropping near several camp sites. The day had become sunny and calm, and we gladly recounted our adventures to some large, guided parties mingling around the site..
We skied our last push through sticky mashed potatoes, reunited with our trail runners, and plodded our way back to the car. We drank a classy, celebratory bottle of wine (a classic Kirk move) as our gear dried in the warm spring sun, and eventually shoved off.
South Early Winter Spire
5/3/2024
This day began with sunshine, coffee and smiles, and only got more stressful after that. After success skiing the day before, Josh and I had energy and ambition for a rock climb today. Our eyes were set on the SW rib of the South Early Winter Spire– a typically moderate ~7 pitch route in the Liberty Bell group that looked relatively snow free when we saw it the day before. With ignorant torpidity, we gathered our gear and headed to Blue Lake TH, shoving off on our journey at 10 am.
We ascended firm snow in approach shoes and microspikes, navigating a tenuous mote to gain the rock beginning the route. Josh’s toes were already freezing, but he persevered and led up the spicy first pitch. I took the second– a fat, tiring, left leaning crack easily visible from the base. At the third pitch we ran into trouble– ice filled the cracks and we had to kick steps up an unanticipated steep finger of snow (Josh was on lead for these shenanigans). Though our efforts were brave, they were in vain. We ended up around the corner from our next belay, and had to endure some soggy-footed downclimbing to press on. In the next four creeping pitches, Josh took the sharp end for the classic “bear hug” double off width feature, and I used my excessive height and ape index to bring us up some low angle, high stakes slabbary. Finally we found ourselves just below the summit at a feature called the bunny ears.
Post facto, Josh and I agreed that at this point, individually and unspoken, our stress levels peaked, but we both hid it well. It was already 6 pm (sunset at 9), and a strong wind whipped around our exposed perch. Snow was blowing off the peak into our faces and the overcast skies seemed to be darkening. Though we were both keen to retreat, our options were limited, and we decided our fastest and safest route would still be up and over the summit, rather than rappelling our long, wandering ascent route. Moving on through the cold wind, we made a short, commiting rappel to a notch, and scrambled up a final snowy face to the top. Feeling more anxious than satisfied, we immediately transitioned into approach shoes and microspikes and headed for the South Arete. The south Arete- though supposedly an easier and quicker descent– looked daunting when we scoped it on our way up.
As the downclimb began, we noticed the top-out of the “Southwest Couloir” with an established bootpack heading down. Though we could not see past a bottleneck below and lacked crampons and axes, we were more drawn to the steep but sheltered kick steps than the snowy, exposed arete we were seeking. Thus, in our microspikes and clutching nut tools in lieu of axes, we kicked our way down 100’ or so. Blessedly, just before the ice-sheeted, 3’ wide bottleneck, we spotted a rappel station (three brand new nuts) on some nearby rock and felt our first relief in hours. Despite the baseline anxiety, I could not help but smile as I rappelled on snow for the first time. It was a blast experiencing small sloughs of snow cascading down around me as I slid toward safety. Two additional raps brought us back to ground level just as the sun was setting, and we plunge-stepped ourselves back to the car in the dark by 9:20pm. All told- 8 pitches, 4 rappels, 0 summit pics.
No establishments in Mazama were open to provide us with an Apre burger, so we headed back to camp and settled for Annie’s white cheddar mac n’ cheese, and Charlie Beren’s old fashioned Wisconsin brandy. The next morning, Josh hobbled up to me and reported his toe joints were bruised so badly from our kick stepping that even walking was painful. Both of us were exhausted (or as Josh would say, “shattered”), and rain was moving in, so we crushed some breakfast sammies at the Mazama store and reminisced on our journey once more before heading out. It was an honor to share such an epic day with a fellow Mabie.
Washington Pass Birthday Tour
5/2/2024
My cousin Josh lives in our beloved homeland, Wisconsin, but he cut his climbing teeth in the illustrious PNW, and part of his soul remains here today. Mid winter, we locked down a few days in early May to organize a Cascadian adventure, and hoped for the best as we watched the erratic spring forecast. When the time came, Washington Pass seemed like the best bet. Best case, we shred glorious alpine snow and rock back to back, worst case we get rained on and drink beer in Mazama for four days.
We met at Blue Lake TH on 5/2 around 9am still unsure what the day would have in store. The unconfident forecast suggested two days of mild and relatively dry weather with heavy precipitation on either end. Though we (especially Josh) were eager to climb, the early spring conditions at the crag were a big question mark. The solution was obvious: go for the Birthday Tour on skis today allowing us an up-close look at tomorrow’s climbing objective along the way.
After a nice long chat and unpacking and repacking gear, we finally shoved off around 11am– a bit later than anticipated. It was overcast, not too warm, and the day was long. Within the first few miles we breached the treeline and the Liberty group stood proudly before us. As the pitch steepened heading up our first pass, we looked back to see South Early Winter Spire (our objective for the next day) jutting up behind us looking tantalizingly snow-free. Our attention was brought back to the present as we ascended beneath a massive, looming cornice. We tried our best to stay out of its runout, skinning and finally booting up the slope’s flank to our first transition. Josh was not keen on pictures of the cornice making it to his wife.
The views from beyond the cornice were excellent- sublime skiing as far as the eye could see. The snow seemed to be in good shape and I was eager to let ‘er rip down our first 2000’ shred of the day. Josh was slightly more reserved. His skiing this season had been limited to inbounds adventures, predominantly at one of Wisconsin's premier ski areas, coincidentally named Cascade Mountain. Further, he was on brand new skis which had been mounted just a few days earlier in the nick of time (Josh drove several hours across state lines to get it done. Who knew how hard it would be to get AT bindings mounted in the midwest?). A few turns in, we both found our groove and plummeted down toward Copper Creek through semi-fresh, creamy spring snow.
Our next uphill felt longer. I experienced a bit of globbing on my skins and both of our hips were aching from the heavy snow. Every few minutes Josh would mutter “this is so amazing!”. Though he was being sincere, the exhaustion made him sound more sarcastic than anything. Eventually we made it to our next pass just north of Copper Point. Our spirits lightened as we were presented with a sweeping view of Kangaroo ridge, and our long, wandering line all the way back to the hairpin on hwy 20. After some shenanigans walking around a cornice and down a short scree steppe, we began our second descent. Josh ripped it up and I got some sweet air off a small cornice. Half way down we paused to shake out our legs, then we navigated through trees and gullies on warm, sticky snow to the road and our shuttle car just before 6pm. Excellent skiing, effective recon, and a good ol’ slog.
Mt. Hood
4/19/2024
On the eve of the eve of 4/20, I scooped up my pal Kirk from Seattle and blasted down to the Timberline resort parking lot at Mt Hood. The lot lies well above treeline at 5’800’. A horribly strong wind greeted us upon arrival and persisted all night long. Too blustery to bivy, Kirk snuggled into the back of my car with me and we attempted to sleep as the car shook with the stronger gusts. Our alarms roused us a little after two. It was obvious the wind had not died down at all, and we could not bring ourselves to depart. An hour later, we heard other parties shoving off and decided it had to be done. I slammed an 8ozSFRB and a pop tart, and we shoved off on skis and skins at 4:20 am (blaze).
Kirk and I ascended an icy groomer parallel to Timberline’s Palmer chairlift In the darkness through an insulting wind. Kirk was wearing his ski goggles the whole time and I assume he was functionally blind for the whole push. As we passed the top lift shack and left the groomers behind us, the heavens aligned– The wind finally began to calm just as sunshine peeked over the horizon. The snow from here was frozen solid and wind-blown into inconvenient waves. Thankfully, Kirk and I both had ski crampons. A year previously we had learned their value on an icy, unsuccessful attempt of Baker without them.
We paused at Devil’s Kitchen (a flat saddle that is the typical rest area before the summit push) to admire the steaming sulfur vents, eat a pop tart, and down an 8ozSFRB. The pop tarts were “chocolaty chip pancake” flavor from Grocery Outlet. Would buy again. We deliberated on our next move from here, and decided to head up the “Old Chute” route where we saw the parties before us had gone. We ditched our skis at the Kitchen, and each donned crampons. Kirk also donned an ear bud to blast some Black Sabbath for the climb. The route to the chute involved climbing a firm ridge and traversing out and around a Bergschrund that was just beginning to open. Though the crack was easily avoidable, this endeavor felt tenuous on the hard snow. With steeper terrain ahead, we decided to each take out two ice axes for the ascent of the chute itself. This climb was narrow– not much wider than a single person, with ridges of rime bordering the route on either side. To me, the climb felt fairly full on, but with the double ice ax approach I did also feel secure (Kirk and his soft shell snowboard boots/universal crampons may disagree). At the top of the chute, a short catwalk brought us to the sunny summit proper around 9am. I ate another pop tart and we headed back for our descent of the chute and hogsback.
By the time we got back to the skis, the snow–at least where we were– was still rock solid. As it was 4/20 eve, we figured our best course of action would be to chill out in the sun, listen to some reggae, and give the mountain a little longer to warm up. An hour later, the snow was the same but we were tired of waiting, so we began our thigh-crushing, edge-dulling, teeth shattering shred downward. Our bodies were sick of it after a few thousand feet, and we decided to wait just one more hour on a rock outcropping in hopes of a bountiful corn harvest lower down. Once again nothing changed so we bit the bullet and continued the burn. Eventually we reached the icy fast groomer and flew with ease back to the car. Kirk brought along an Apres bottle of wine which we enjoyed before heading out. First volcano complete. Nutrition stats: two 8ozSFRBs and 6 total chocolaty chip pancake pop tarts.
Prusik Peak
9/23/2023
On a cold September evening, Kirk and I made our way to the Enchantments zone near Leavenworth. We aimed to squeeze in a final alpine rock adventure on Prusik Peak before fall and winter took over the PNW. We arrived late and barely slept before our alarms went off at a disturbingly early hour. Though only a few pitches were on the docket during the journey, the approach would be unfortunately long (classic Cascades), and there was potential for afternoon precipitation.
Shoving off at 2:45am, we wandered through the dark laden with our gear and rope. We ascended above the quintessential Colchuck lake and half way up Asgard Pass before the sky finally began to show some light. 8.5 miles and nearly 6k’ later, Prusik was finally in front of us. A better climber than me, Kirk was hoping to give the “Becky-Davis” route a go. Though still moderate, this route is longer, more sustained, and more committing than the popular West Ridge. Alas, strong winds and looming clouds convinced us to take the easier route.
We donned our climbing equipment and I slugged down an 8oz sugar free Red Bull. Only seconds after I tightened my harness, I felt a poop starting to build, but I didn’t speak up and we began our climb. A short scramble brought us up to our first pitch, and we were bummed to find two parties ahead of us on this cold, gray day. We huddled behind a rock trying to avoid the wind as we waited- not for the last time, either. Eventually Kirk led off first, and we efficiently tackled each of the four casual pitches. At each anchor we had to wait for the slower groups ahead, forcing me to think about my growing intestinal urges as we sheltered from angry gusts. Kirk, solution-oriented as ever, informed me of a high alpine turd disposal method involving squishing your product between two flat rocks and frisbee tossing the sandwich into thin air, but I opted to hold it. Despite my cramping tummy, the last two pitches were most fun. We romped across the classic knife edge, and then squished ourselves through an offwidth to gain the summit.
After a quick celebration, we began our rappel journey off the north face. My body could tell a bathroom break was imminent, and I pleaded with myself to hold on just a little bit longer. When we hit solid ground, I departed, did my business, and returned a lighter, happier man. In a few more minutes we trekked back to our stashed packs where Kirk brewed us some nice warm tea. Reluctantly, as a light snow began to fall, we slung our heavy packs back on and began the return slog. The precipitation added ambiance to the classic PNW environment, and unfortunately slicked up our route down Asgard pass where it was warm enough to rain instead. 16 hours after our departure that morning, we finally made it back to the car, and then down to Leavenworth for some juicy pseudo-Bavarian würst and ales.
