June 8, 2003, Sahale Mtn.

I had Sahale Arm all to myself yesterday, with a couple of climbers heading downhill as I headed up from Cascade Pass, a couple of skiers (hello, Ema, Jason and Lynn) arriving as I descended, and an additional two buff and burly-looking skiers just setting out for the Ptarmigan Traverse as I returned to my car.  I am continually astounded that I get to romp around endlessly in such terrain, so close to home and so remote from virtually everything and everybody.  

At higher elevation, there is probably a bit more snow than I've seen here in past years; for example, the bergshrund on Sahale Glacier€”never terribly threatening€”is not yet visible.  At lower elevations, the snow is melting fast.  The regular route down from Cascade Pass is still barely doable, although a high-speed traverse through suncups and around undercut holes is necessary, crossing a  series of 45 degree slopes which roll over into threatening trees below.  Since my unfortunate encounter with some trees just a year ago (during which I played pinball for a while to their flippers and bumpers), I have grown increasingly respectful of their potential for causing grievous bodily harm, and this interferes mightily with my composure in their presence.  

I did manage to ski nonstop from just below the summit to 3600 feet, with two brief heather patches, one stream crossing, and a lot of judicious skirting of glide cracks with running water beneath.  Between the lowest skiable snow and the road were a couple of hundred yards of heinous brambles and malevolent slide alder....but no worse than we've all seen before.  In general, suncups are reasonable, but runnels are starting to deepen on longer slopes, especially near Cascade Pass.  As Brent indicated in a previous TR, an ice axe will help with the climb (unless taking the longer but less exposed summer trail); I also cramponed one steep section.

One benefit to the lack of recent snowfall: good quality, stable corn on a solid base all the way to the summit.  One drawback: dirt and pollen has collected in streaks on the surface, such that the blissed out skier encounters zones of sublime acceleration followed without warning by areas of gluey grit.  I found it interesting trying to maintain a calm and collected stance under the circumstances.  Of course, on steeper shots this problem vanished completely, and I assume that willingness to carry excessive speed would have had the same effect.  

1500 feet below the summit on my descent I met Ema and friends, and we squabbled a bit about who would write the day's trip report; I suggested that she do it, while she seemed to feel Jason would be better suited.  We also hit all the usual conversational high spots, including skiing conditions, the extreme beauty of the day and location, and Charles' Turns All Year website.  There was general agreement that we felt wholeheartedly in favor of all of the above.  Continuing downhill, I managed to control an impulse to drop straight down to Doubtful Lake, something I've always meant to try.  Thus prepared, I quickly quashed the similarly unrealistic idea of a quick side trip to Pelton Basin.  6000 feet makes a perfectly reasonable day.

I saw absolutely no avalanche activity at all on Johannesburg Mountain, a first in my experience.  I did witness a boulder only slightly smaller than a Volkswagen (more like a Mini Cooper S), which came bounding down a steep slope and across the summer trail just west of Cascade Pass.  It was only then that I noticed the remarkable number of similar boulders scattered here and there across the landscape, all of which must have arrived quite recently in the same manner.  This helped to confirm my decision to use the winter route in both directions.  

For whatever reason, I generally see wildlife on the Cascade River Road€”always deer, usually bears, and once a cougar.  This time, there was an owl sitting stupidly in the middle of the road in full sunlight, wings spread wide with leading edges tipped down into the asphalt.  I thought it had been hit by a car, but when I got close it flew up into a handy tree and stared at me bug-eyed, every so often doing that Linda Blair thing with its neck that owls do.  I am not a bird person, so perhaps someone else will have something informative to say about a foot-tall owl, brown with white spots.  In my ignorance I fancied it one of the fabled spotted owls, but it occurs to me that if these are prone to sunbathing in the middle major thoroughfares, this might have some bearing on their continued viability as a species€”never mind the logging of old-growth forest.  I also saw a sleek, healthy coyote, galloping happily along the roadside, as if overjoyed to be alive on such a generously sunny day, without a trace of the usual slinking, furtive, coyote look.  

The Cascade River Road is still gated just below the first paved switchbacks, but there are rumors the needed repairs will be done shortly, perhaps this week.  Parking lots at Roush Creek and at the (gated) road closure were packed with cars, although most of their owners apparently went elsewhere, in search of other sorts of thrills.  The road itself is freshly graded, but it is surfaced with a variety of pea gravel which, in size, shape and lack of cohesion, is somewhat akin to large ball bearings.  Those like myself possessed of a love of entirely immoderate speed (relying, for example, on the classic four-wheel drift on corners) might want to sit up and pay attention.  Don't ask me how I know this.  

Enjoy,

Mark