Night 4 - Steep and Dark, Into the Whiteout

June 14-15, 2007

Thumb Rock Camp (10,800 feet) to West Side Forced Bivy Site (+/- 12,000 Feet)

When we wake, we can see the bright lights of Seattle and Tacoma on the otherwise pitch-black horizon, and we start climbing in near-perfect conditions – not too cold yet, but cold enough for comfortably firm snow conditions. Hooman leads us out, setting the excellent slow-but-steady pace that he is so good at, and we make some serious progress. After an hour or two of climbing up some extremely exposed and often disconcertingly steep snow slopes, each of us immersed in our isolated bubbles of headlamp light, it starts to snow lightly. Not thinking much of it at this point, we continue up the ridge, stopping only for a short rest break on a rocky outcrop on the Willis Wall side of the ridge. After the rest break, it starts to snow harder and harder, until finally we can no longer see the lights of Seattle and Tacoma, leaving us alone in our shrinking circles of headlamp visibility.

After finally gaining the crest of the ridge, the snow is coming down pretty hard, but we continue along the boot tracks that we have been following for the night, leading us onto the right side of the ridge. We eventually lose this trail after it is covered surprisingly quickly by newly fallen snow, and Hooman and I are left wandering around on progressively looser 50-60 degree snow slopes, looking for the trail or a passable route up the ridge. By the time Dan catches up to us, we are in a full-on white-out, still in the dark, without a trail to follow, facing cliff bands that prevent us from continuing up the ridge.

We decide that we need to sit down and stay put until the snow lets up or it gets light enough out that we can see a route and continue up the mountain. We find a semi-sheltered spot next to a 6 foot cliff, dig out a small, flat snow platform to sit on, and get out the tent fly, our sleeping pads, and sit and wait for the light. We drape the tarp over our heads, and sit there, freezing our collective ass off, waiting for the snow to let up and/or for the sun to come out. Our platform is a 6 foot long by 2 foot deep shelf, perched above a 55 degree slope, with a 2,000 foot drop-off directly beneath our feet. Thankfully, the tarp blocks the view down into this abyss, although the snow effectively reduces our visibility to the point that all we see is vague outlines of dark rock outcroppings anyway. While we sit here, the snow continues to fall, working it’s way behind the rainfly draped over our heads, and onto our sleeping pads and gear. We sit and shiver, waiting for light and for the snow to let up.