June 17, 2003, Coleman-Deming route, Mt. Baker
6/17/03
WA Cascades West Slopes North (Mt Baker)
3078
1
By last weekend, virtually everyone you or I know had skied Mt. Baker from the summit this season. Reports to this effect began with David Coleman's magnum opus back in the dark days of January (http://www.turns-all-year.com/cgi-bin/yabb/YaBB.pl?board=tr0301;action=display;num=1042395512), ending most recently with the combination ice climb/ski descent by Scotterxy (http://www.turns-all-year.com/cgi-bin/yabb/YaBB.pl?board=tr0306;action=display;num=1055909459). Three of us, perhaps the last remaining backcountry skiers in the state of Washington who had not yet done this tour, gathered at the trailhead at first light Tuesday morning. In an astounding display of what I took to be all-American optimism in the face of the ongoing depletion of fossil fuel reserves, the three of us arrived at separate times, driving separate cars up from Bellingham. The earliest of our group met PhotoMatt's band of orbiters on Monday night, reporting that they looked somewhat tired upon arrival in the parking lot around 9:30 or 10:00 pm.
Our ski day featured bright sun, excellent visibility and nicely softening corn snow marred only by a few icy bits at the top of the Roman Wall and by the uneven accumulation of surface grit. Winds were not bad, even at the summit: thirty or forty mph. Temps were above freezing, and Baker's steam vents were blasting away, their sulfurous smell very reminiscent, to the giardiasis-savvy, of a recent off-topicTtips.com thread (http://www.telemarktalk.com/phpBB/viewtopic.php?topic=9622&forum=1).
Here in the land of 14% water content "powder," frequent snows at elevation through June or early July usually produce amusingly mixed snow conditions on long descents. This year, however, the relative paucity of snow during May and June has allowed an unusual degree of consolidation and the formation of some very reasonable corn. This has come at an undeniable cost in suncups, runnels and gritty surfaces, but it's definitely made for some pretty good skiing. We left the summit around 1:30, and this seemed reasonably-timed; the Roman Wall was in fine shape, and everything below that point was as good as a sane person would ask; perfectly manageable grabby, mushy slop, well-supported by a rock-solid base. Skiable snow extends below 5000 feet, although it is getting pretty rough at that elevation, and is often impressively undercut by meltwater streams. One member of our party reported that these are surprisingly cold, should you happen to drop into one.
On the glaciers, snowbridges are strong and most crevasses invisible, which, for the optimistically-inclined, is almost the same thing as calling them non-existent. Of course, there are quite a few monster slots apparent, often of a size and demeanor well-suited to swallowing half the population of that little town in Iowa where you grew up, but these are easily turned, on or off skis. I actually jumped one, more or less accidentally, only realizing when I looked down as I flew over it that what I'd thought was a little depression in the snow was actually a big, deep, ravenously-hungry crevasse. Of course, I instantly and comprehensively freaked out, hip-checked reflexively, and scrabbled frantically with my fingertips at the 40+ degree slope the instant I touched down. This left a very unappealing scar in the snow, but I did eventually succeed in gathering my shattered wits and carrying on down the glacier.
The mountain wasn't particularly crowded, considering the splendor of the day. We saw several pairs of climbers, including a few who had carried over after climbing the North Ridge. One rope team looked particularly bedraggled; the second on the rope had crampons dangling so loosely off his pack that they actually dragged on the ground at times, and he was carrying what appeared to be a long, sharpened, wooden stake of the sort which you might use to fend off attacks by Romanian vampires in full blood-lust. This, too, was dangling rather dangerously behind him, and, considering the way he was staggering, I feared for his bodily integrity should he slip and fall. We saw just one other skier, alone and carving impressively down the Roman Wall just as we arrived.
For whatever mysterious reason, there was not a trace of tree pollen on my ski bases when I finally took them off after an almost 6000 foot descent. Lowell says that pollen problems usually ease off around the middle of the month, and I'm inclined to believe him. With a couple of optional ups and downs thrown in for the sake of variety, my altimeter claimed 6050 feet of skiing, with 7500 feet of total climb and descent. Another five or ten of these and I'll be ready for Shasta.
Enjoy,
Mark
Our ski day featured bright sun, excellent visibility and nicely softening corn snow marred only by a few icy bits at the top of the Roman Wall and by the uneven accumulation of surface grit. Winds were not bad, even at the summit: thirty or forty mph. Temps were above freezing, and Baker's steam vents were blasting away, their sulfurous smell very reminiscent, to the giardiasis-savvy, of a recent off-topicTtips.com thread (http://www.telemarktalk.com/phpBB/viewtopic.php?topic=9622&forum=1).
Here in the land of 14% water content "powder," frequent snows at elevation through June or early July usually produce amusingly mixed snow conditions on long descents. This year, however, the relative paucity of snow during May and June has allowed an unusual degree of consolidation and the formation of some very reasonable corn. This has come at an undeniable cost in suncups, runnels and gritty surfaces, but it's definitely made for some pretty good skiing. We left the summit around 1:30, and this seemed reasonably-timed; the Roman Wall was in fine shape, and everything below that point was as good as a sane person would ask; perfectly manageable grabby, mushy slop, well-supported by a rock-solid base. Skiable snow extends below 5000 feet, although it is getting pretty rough at that elevation, and is often impressively undercut by meltwater streams. One member of our party reported that these are surprisingly cold, should you happen to drop into one.
On the glaciers, snowbridges are strong and most crevasses invisible, which, for the optimistically-inclined, is almost the same thing as calling them non-existent. Of course, there are quite a few monster slots apparent, often of a size and demeanor well-suited to swallowing half the population of that little town in Iowa where you grew up, but these are easily turned, on or off skis. I actually jumped one, more or less accidentally, only realizing when I looked down as I flew over it that what I'd thought was a little depression in the snow was actually a big, deep, ravenously-hungry crevasse. Of course, I instantly and comprehensively freaked out, hip-checked reflexively, and scrabbled frantically with my fingertips at the 40+ degree slope the instant I touched down. This left a very unappealing scar in the snow, but I did eventually succeed in gathering my shattered wits and carrying on down the glacier.
The mountain wasn't particularly crowded, considering the splendor of the day. We saw several pairs of climbers, including a few who had carried over after climbing the North Ridge. One rope team looked particularly bedraggled; the second on the rope had crampons dangling so loosely off his pack that they actually dragged on the ground at times, and he was carrying what appeared to be a long, sharpened, wooden stake of the sort which you might use to fend off attacks by Romanian vampires in full blood-lust. This, too, was dangling rather dangerously behind him, and, considering the way he was staggering, I feared for his bodily integrity should he slip and fall. We saw just one other skier, alone and carving impressively down the Roman Wall just as we arrived.
For whatever mysterious reason, there was not a trace of tree pollen on my ski bases when I finally took them off after an almost 6000 foot descent. Lowell says that pollen problems usually ease off around the middle of the month, and I'm inclined to believe him. With a couple of optional ups and downs thrown in for the sake of variety, my altimeter claimed 6050 feet of skiing, with 7500 feet of total climb and descent. Another five or ten of these and I'll be ready for Shasta.
Enjoy,
Mark
The earliest of our group met PhotoMatt's band of orbiters on Monday night, reporting that they looked somewhat tired upon arrival in the parking lot around 9:30 or 10:00 pm.
Nice job, I sorta remember being extremely tired upon my arrival back to the car.
Joshua
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