May 26, 2003, North Cascades Highway
5/26/03
2237
1
We left Bellingham at 7:15. The day was not promising, with clouds thickening and lowering almost to pass level. Our designated grouch mumbled and growled in the seat next to me; the weather sucked, the snow was probably unskiable, the long drive a waste of time. I found myself in sole possession of the optimistic end of the spectrum; the weather was improving, the snow probably wondrous, the drive uniquely suited. Since I was also in possession of the car keys, the steering wheel, and all the various knobs, buttons, levers and pedals, my point of view prevailed.
We began by parking at a little turnout on the highway, "somewhere east of Marblemount" (truth be told, it was also east of Rainy Pass). We then skinned the well-traveled track up a very aesthetic u-shaped valley. Where the standard route turned one way, we went the other, climbing to the ridge, then dropping a couple of hundred feet into thin trees before cutting left. From that point on, the day consisted of skinning and/or booting impressively steep slopes to a variety of saddles and narrow slots along successive sawtooth ridges. We began by clambering up a very impressive south-facing slope to a saddle. On the other side was a thousand feet of moderate (35 degree) corn, which made heroes of us all. Whoa. No more pessimistic grumbling.
Around us on all aspects loomed sculpted granite towers with smooth, sheer faces standing like ramparts along successive ridgelines. In the valleys between: magical and wholly imaginary lands populated by demons, dragons, simple folk with hairy feet (dressed in homespun clothing, smoking long-stemmed pipes); the kind of valleys where the age-old battles between archetypal good and evil might rage unabated; the kind of valleys, in fact, which are almost impossible to conceive in the absence of digital manipulation of images in service to crass and commercial bastardizations of J.R.R. Tolkien novels....but wait: I'm getting a bit off track.
Continuing under the guidance of our fearless leader, we climbed to a slot high on the next ridge which, although indistinguishable from any other, is apparently the only one which goes. On the other side: another descent in fine corn snow, this one featuring an entrance about which we had been promised, "It's not as steep as it looks." Huh. My partners skied the roll effortlesslygleefully, evenwhile I hung back, protesting ineffectually. Our self-appointed photographer waited, then began belittled my abilities, inclinations and manhood in an abrasive voice, until, having side-slipped up to the edge and seen that it was, in fact, not as bad as it looked, I went swooping down...into another fairytale valley, full of granite boulders the size of suburban homes. I resumed looking around for hobbits and wizards.
Next, of course, was another skin up to another sawtooth ridge: this one even more improbable and precipitous than the last (and featuring a final bit of 45 degree skinning in snow now too soft to posthole), from which the endless North Cascades crest suddenly filled our view. We were properly impressed. Below and to the right I could make out my van, parked a mere 2000 feet of steep slide gullies, debris cones, and avalanche-battered glades below. My partnersboth of whom grew up skiing eastern trees and icewere remarkably patient with me, stopping to wait on one pretext or another while I picked my gingerly way down. Eventually, we all emerged unscathedin fact, grinning and exuberant. By 5:30 we were tucked securely into the solid line of giant RV's and gear-festooned Suburus which stretched the entire length of the North Cascades Highway from Winthrop to Sedro Wooley. No one complained about the weather, the snow, or the drive.
Along the way, we debated various fanciful names with which one might write a description of this tour. "The Faces of Death Variation," perhaps, or "Satan's Razor Couloir." Sadly, I'm sworn to secrecy by our guide on this venture, who ventured that hardly a single "west-sider" had been shown this route, which is apparently a perennial favorite of a select few east-side locals. Therefore, names have been changed, and critical details have been omitted or subtly altered. For example: that part about the hobbits? Pure poetic license, that was. Sorry.
Enjoy,
Mark
PS: Snow felt pretty stable everywhere we went on all aspects to about 45 degrees...but there were some recent size 2 and 3 wet slab releases scattered here and there, plus some truck-sized bits of cornice that had tumbled a thousand feet or so before grinding to a halt at the valley floor. Given that all this looked to have happened within the past few days, the usual cautions probably apply.
We began by parking at a little turnout on the highway, "somewhere east of Marblemount" (truth be told, it was also east of Rainy Pass). We then skinned the well-traveled track up a very aesthetic u-shaped valley. Where the standard route turned one way, we went the other, climbing to the ridge, then dropping a couple of hundred feet into thin trees before cutting left. From that point on, the day consisted of skinning and/or booting impressively steep slopes to a variety of saddles and narrow slots along successive sawtooth ridges. We began by clambering up a very impressive south-facing slope to a saddle. On the other side was a thousand feet of moderate (35 degree) corn, which made heroes of us all. Whoa. No more pessimistic grumbling.
Around us on all aspects loomed sculpted granite towers with smooth, sheer faces standing like ramparts along successive ridgelines. In the valleys between: magical and wholly imaginary lands populated by demons, dragons, simple folk with hairy feet (dressed in homespun clothing, smoking long-stemmed pipes); the kind of valleys where the age-old battles between archetypal good and evil might rage unabated; the kind of valleys, in fact, which are almost impossible to conceive in the absence of digital manipulation of images in service to crass and commercial bastardizations of J.R.R. Tolkien novels....but wait: I'm getting a bit off track.
Continuing under the guidance of our fearless leader, we climbed to a slot high on the next ridge which, although indistinguishable from any other, is apparently the only one which goes. On the other side: another descent in fine corn snow, this one featuring an entrance about which we had been promised, "It's not as steep as it looks." Huh. My partners skied the roll effortlesslygleefully, evenwhile I hung back, protesting ineffectually. Our self-appointed photographer waited, then began belittled my abilities, inclinations and manhood in an abrasive voice, until, having side-slipped up to the edge and seen that it was, in fact, not as bad as it looked, I went swooping down...into another fairytale valley, full of granite boulders the size of suburban homes. I resumed looking around for hobbits and wizards.
Next, of course, was another skin up to another sawtooth ridge: this one even more improbable and precipitous than the last (and featuring a final bit of 45 degree skinning in snow now too soft to posthole), from which the endless North Cascades crest suddenly filled our view. We were properly impressed. Below and to the right I could make out my van, parked a mere 2000 feet of steep slide gullies, debris cones, and avalanche-battered glades below. My partnersboth of whom grew up skiing eastern trees and icewere remarkably patient with me, stopping to wait on one pretext or another while I picked my gingerly way down. Eventually, we all emerged unscathedin fact, grinning and exuberant. By 5:30 we were tucked securely into the solid line of giant RV's and gear-festooned Suburus which stretched the entire length of the North Cascades Highway from Winthrop to Sedro Wooley. No one complained about the weather, the snow, or the drive.
Along the way, we debated various fanciful names with which one might write a description of this tour. "The Faces of Death Variation," perhaps, or "Satan's Razor Couloir." Sadly, I'm sworn to secrecy by our guide on this venture, who ventured that hardly a single "west-sider" had been shown this route, which is apparently a perennial favorite of a select few east-side locals. Therefore, names have been changed, and critical details have been omitted or subtly altered. For example: that part about the hobbits? Pure poetic license, that was. Sorry.
Enjoy,
Mark
PS: Snow felt pretty stable everywhere we went on all aspects to about 45 degrees...but there were some recent size 2 and 3 wet slab releases scattered here and there, plus some truck-sized bits of cornice that had tumbled a thousand feet or so before grinding to a halt at the valley floor. Given that all this looked to have happened within the past few days, the usual cautions probably apply.
As usual, Mark, your reports are always a great read... and the goods are in there, too, if you look for them. Thanks.
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