April 11, 2009, Mt. Stuart, Glacier Tag
4/11/09
WA Cascades East Slopes Central
2751
3
To keep an old passion burning, you need to keep viewing it with new eyes. That was Tom Janischs mindset as he sat on his throne, grabbed one of the guidebooks kept within arms reach, and contemplated. Out went the waste and in came the inspiration for a tour tickling the toes of Stuarts north-side glaciers.
By Saturday morning Tom had found another attention-deficit skier, who also believed that nothing was so tedious as a twice-told tale, and the two of us were walking the Eightmile Road holding high hopes for this new circuit through an old playground. At the end of the road, we skinned the trail toward Lake Stuart. Then, a mile beyond the Colchuck Lake cutoff, we split off cross-country, across deadfall, and across boulders, following the Mountaineer Creek drainage. It wouldnt be Northwestern skiing without a sublime lashing of brush.
By late morning, we were under the granite walls and glacial sheets composing the Sherpa-Stuart massif with necks cricked back, eyes squinted, and mouths agape. Earlier, these walls had basked in sunshine but now they were under the siege of buffeting winds and streaming clouds. Black ramparts, white snow, gray clouds¦ it was monochrome landscape save for the glowing blue glacial ice accenting the toes of the Sherpa and Ice Cliff glaciers.
Up we went toward the terminal moraine of Sherpa. Unfortunately evening time constraints on my end didnt afford the time to actually tag the ice of the present-day glacier. Instead, about 600 vertical feet shy of the lowest ice, we contoured away from the Sherpa. We sliced under the Ice Cliff Glacier, hoping in its excitement to see us it didnt shower us with its blue blocks. Climbing in a westerly direction we then intersected the Stuart Glacier and tickled its toes before reaching Goat Pass (el. 7,640).
Here, we ate and discussed how skiers of our ilk (chicken-skinned ones of mediocre athletic talent) could add variety to our touring passion without becoming overly enamored with the less-forgiving, steep slopes some of our friends use to spice-up their adventures. Baltasar Gracian gave us a slogan to hang our hats on, A brand new mediocrity is thought of more than accustomed excellence.
Mediocre or not, we enjoyed the windy, bitter, beauty of this route. And we enjoyed the descent. Because we had found no powder during the climb, it was no surprise our turns started on ice that resonated with the rasp of steel-wheeled skateboards rolling over concrete. Mysteriously, however, we glided into the Devils Deposition Triangle where flakes hijacked from everywhere else on the mountain were all being held hostage. We didnt question, we simply skied this improbable stash for 1200 vertical feet.
The mysterious powder zone vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Once gone, we skied crusts, collapsing crusts, corn, and mush into the meadows west of Lake Stuart. Then began a 9.5-mile trudge back to the car along a route thats downhill but littered with enough obstacles and short climbs to make you wonder how this freak of physics can be uphill in both directions.
Id forgotten this annoyance but several minutes of sidestepping, gliding,
and sidestepping had me remembering that nothing is so tedious as a tenth-time travelled trail. Looking at old places with new eyes does, in deed, keep the fire for ski touring alive. So does a bad memory.
+++++
More pictures, a map, and details:
By Saturday morning Tom had found another attention-deficit skier, who also believed that nothing was so tedious as a twice-told tale, and the two of us were walking the Eightmile Road holding high hopes for this new circuit through an old playground. At the end of the road, we skinned the trail toward Lake Stuart. Then, a mile beyond the Colchuck Lake cutoff, we split off cross-country, across deadfall, and across boulders, following the Mountaineer Creek drainage. It wouldnt be Northwestern skiing without a sublime lashing of brush.
By late morning, we were under the granite walls and glacial sheets composing the Sherpa-Stuart massif with necks cricked back, eyes squinted, and mouths agape. Earlier, these walls had basked in sunshine but now they were under the siege of buffeting winds and streaming clouds. Black ramparts, white snow, gray clouds¦ it was monochrome landscape save for the glowing blue glacial ice accenting the toes of the Sherpa and Ice Cliff glaciers.
Up we went toward the terminal moraine of Sherpa. Unfortunately evening time constraints on my end didnt afford the time to actually tag the ice of the present-day glacier. Instead, about 600 vertical feet shy of the lowest ice, we contoured away from the Sherpa. We sliced under the Ice Cliff Glacier, hoping in its excitement to see us it didnt shower us with its blue blocks. Climbing in a westerly direction we then intersected the Stuart Glacier and tickled its toes before reaching Goat Pass (el. 7,640).
Here, we ate and discussed how skiers of our ilk (chicken-skinned ones of mediocre athletic talent) could add variety to our touring passion without becoming overly enamored with the less-forgiving, steep slopes some of our friends use to spice-up their adventures. Baltasar Gracian gave us a slogan to hang our hats on, A brand new mediocrity is thought of more than accustomed excellence.
Mediocre or not, we enjoyed the windy, bitter, beauty of this route. And we enjoyed the descent. Because we had found no powder during the climb, it was no surprise our turns started on ice that resonated with the rasp of steel-wheeled skateboards rolling over concrete. Mysteriously, however, we glided into the Devils Deposition Triangle where flakes hijacked from everywhere else on the mountain were all being held hostage. We didnt question, we simply skied this improbable stash for 1200 vertical feet.
The mysterious powder zone vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Once gone, we skied crusts, collapsing crusts, corn, and mush into the meadows west of Lake Stuart. Then began a 9.5-mile trudge back to the car along a route thats downhill but littered with enough obstacles and short climbs to make you wonder how this freak of physics can be uphill in both directions.
Id forgotten this annoyance but several minutes of sidestepping, gliding,
and sidestepping had me remembering that nothing is so tedious as a tenth-time travelled trail. Looking at old places with new eyes does, in deed, keep the fire for ski touring alive. So does a bad memory.
+++++
More pictures, a map, and details:
That's some purdy granite in your third photo. Glad you found the goods on your descent to Lake Stuart; I've only descended interminable talus to the lake. I love the north side of Stuart.
Beautiful pics and words.
The blue ice and then the multi-colored granite in your pictures show what a special place this is.
Very cool, kudos, nothing mediocre about your TR. ;D
The blue ice and then the multi-colored granite in your pictures show what a special place this is.
Very cool, kudos, nothing mediocre about your TR. ;D
The rock-lined cleft this descent brings you through is incredibly beautiful. I probably would have missed the lichens and icicles coating the rock walls here had I not stopped to photograph Tom...one of those cases of too much action, not enough awareness.
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