Old Flames

Climbing the upper Chute.  Lake Cushman in the distance.

In December of 2012 about five months after my re-introduction to the outdoors I was perusing the Washington Trails site looking for local trails that might be of interest.  I was mostly unfamiliar with the area still and relied heavily upon the page to find local hikes.  I stumbled upon the posting for Mount Ellinor and immediately set my sights on the peak. The pictures featured in the trail reports were incredible.  Winter had set in and I knew that I would run into snow.  So I figured, why not try two new things at once?  I went to the local REI in Olympia, rented a pair of snowshoes and early in the morning I headed out.  The road was clear, until the lower trailhead where I parked and embarked on my journey.  

I ascended through the old growth forest in a heavy mist.  At the time I really didn’t notice the beauty around me.  This early in my outdoor adventuring, my focus was primarily on some end goal.  Before long I reached the junction with the upper trail, the snow deeper now, I strapped on my snowshoes and began to ascend the steeper slopes.  Quite the place to cut your teeth on a new activity but in the end, it’s just walking with bigger shoes, right?  I followed the path of a previous individual until it stopped near the Summer Route sign.  At this point, I had no idea where to go, snow had started falling and I made the decision to turn around.  Promising myself I would be back.

Not long after, in February of 2013 I was back with a new pair of MSR snowshoes, Grivel Crampons, and an ice axe.  I had to park nearly three miles from the lower trailhead and snowshoed by way up to the upper trailhead, gained the winter chute and overcame my fear of exposure to successfully summit for the first time.  I remember little of the trip other than my tunnel focus on making that summit, ignoring potential avalanche conditions in the chute.  I vividly remember, looking between my legs at one of the steeper parts of the chute and being struck by vertigo, legs shaking, I was locked in place for a few minutes before digging down and continuing on.  Summit Fever was a very real thing for me back in the early days.  Downclimbing the chute was more of the same.  But obviously, I made it back safely.  The entire outing taking a full day, leaving me exhausted as I slogged my way back to my car.

Fast forward nearly four years and probably about 6,000 mountain miles later…

I sat in my girlfriends living room at 0500, sipping on some coffee and undecided on where to go for what promised to be a cold, clear day off.  So many options open to me in this wonderful backyard we have in Washington. I sat quietly “feeling” my thoughts out. What experience did I want?  During those previous Ellinor experiences, they had been meticulously planned, pre-packed, and I was sure to be on the road by a specific time.  Let’s just say things have changed a bit.   Still undecided, I casually threw together a kit that would be usable in a variety of situations.  A skill I had dialed in over the past two years.  I grabbed a spare bean burrito I had in the fridge, threw my duffel and snowshoe bag over my shoulders and walked out the door.

Halfway down the stairs, my mind changed.  I ran back up and quickly grabbed my girlfriends ice axe off the wall.  Ellinor it was.

A two hour drive from Seattle, I knew I was going to get a later start, but I wasn’t concerned about it.  I had my headlamp and if it came down to it, a descent in the dark would be a unique experience.  As I drove south on I5, my thoughts wandered a bit to how drastically different my philosophy in the mountains had changed over the years, really spurred on by my transition from hiking to more trail running.  While conditioning and cutting down on weight had been a focus early on in the transition, there had been a side effect I wasn’t expecting.  A more relaxed, “go with the flow” mentality towards my time in the mountains.   It might seem odd that philosophy would lead to grander adventures but in my case it has.  Pages could be written on it and maybe at a later time.  The point I make for this already too long blog is unlike four years ago, I had no goal for this trip.  I was merely going out to experience Nature.

Info from an earlier report (thanks Stacia!) indicated I might be in for some sketchy road conditions and as I turned onto FS road 24, I could immediately see the Lancer and I were in for some “fun”.  A quick shout out to my Lancer, she has probably put on about 100,000 miles since our first adventure up Ellinor!  We made easy work of the ice and snow covered road for the first mile.   At that point, I came upon a gentlemen who had cleared a recent blowdown. I got out and chatted with him for a while, thanking him for making it possible for me to continue.  Then the Lancer and I entered pothole hell.  It was like driving over a frozen WWI battlefield, apologizing profusely to the Lancer as I navigated the “road”.  

At the junction with road 2419, I decided it was time to give the Lancer a break.  I carefully swung her around, well to the side of the road so others had plenty of room.  Within a few minutes, snowshoes and kit where in my UD Fastpack and I was on my way.  I found myself excited that I was starting at the base of the mountain, the longer approach would mean a more intimate experience with the mountain.  The miles went smooth and largely unnoticed.  A smile broke out on my face when I passed the spot I had pulled over those four years ago recalling how at that time how large the task at hand seemed.  I was passed by a Jeep, the driver offering me a ride but I think he knew right away that I was enjoying my walk.  A half hour later I passed them as they were backing down the road, there progress stalled by an abandoned truck blocking the way.

Continuing on a well beaten path I was able to leave the snowshoes in my pack.  I was mesmerized by the sun flashing through the trees, and the brief glimpses of Ellinor and Washington towering over me.  My focus was on each step, mindful of what new sight it brought to me.  I had lost track of time and distance as I listened to my breathing and the crunch of my shoes in the snow.  At the lower trailhead, the boot path veered towards the trail but I chose to stay on the road, strapping on my Lightning Ascent (hell of a snowshoe!).  I planned to cut up from the road on the winter shortcut for the trip up.  The road moved into the shadows here, the old growth forest on the ridgeline blocking out the sun. I watched my breath condense in the cold air as I shuffled along up the road.  

Soon I was at the winter shortcut, marked by an orange diamond affixed to a tree on the left side of the road.  But instead of hitting that route to the upper trailhead, my feet seemed to want to explore the old growth forest so I cut towards the lower trail.  The snow made it easy going under the old trees as I meandered my way up the hillside.  The glow of the sun through the thick branches throwing golden filters on the landscape around me.  I briefly lamented my long absence from this area as I realized just  how incredible it is.  My senses seeing it in an entirely “new” way from before.

A winter wonderland

Eventually I spied a sign with the word “Summit” and an arrow pointing to the right.  I had come upon the lower trail.  I followed the well worn track as it switchbacked up the slope,  the trees above me creaked and groaned in the wind.  I quickly gained the upper trail, where the climb steepened.  I expected the real work to start here based on previous experience but it felt like just a few moments before I was seeing the “Summit Route” sign.   The wind had stopped and the air around me was warm as I broke fresh trail in the powdery snow.  Sharp edged shadows cut across the unbroken snow as I zig zagged through the smaller trees at this higher elevation.  Brief views of the winter chute showed me its slopes were smooth and I would enjoy kicking steps up it.

Breaking free of the treeline, the slope steepened and I started to put some work in.  As I neared the area where the chute narrows, the snow changed characteristics, the top layer became firm with soft powder underneath. I scanned my memory banks trying to remember what that meant in terms of avalanche risk.  Every year I review this info in November but by January, have lost track of it.  I made a mental note to download the info to my phone upon my return home.  I tested the snow out with the ice axe and a trekking pole and made a tentative push further up into the chute.  The snow was hard and I was unable to break through.  I strapped on my crampons and continued to ascend.  I looked down often, having made huge strides in taming my fear of exposure and steep slopes. 

My tracks after descending the chute

I passed a steeper portion of the chute, and took in the snow formations surrounding me.  I didn’t like what I saw, the slopes surrounding the chute showing lots of recent but small avalanche activity.  As I neared the final few hundred vertical feet of the chute, again I started to punch through a thick layer into a softer layer.  I stopped.  My “Spidey Sense” was telling me things were not right.  I have learned to listen very closely to this voice of mine.  I stomped out a little seat, sat down for a few minutes and took in the sweeping views of the land below me.  In the distance three volcanoes brooded over the land.  Giant sentinels dwarfing everything around them.  I checked in on my phone, telling of my plan to turn around.  No Summit Fever burning to continue on despite possible risk.  The day had already gone far beyond expectation (because I didn’t have any).

Snow, rock, trees, lakes.. what more could one ask for?

Descending the chute quickly, I snatched up my snowshoes I had left at the base and made my way back towards the trail.  I paused often to enjoy the sun on my face, soaking in the vitamin D.  I stopped to chat briefly with the two from the Jeep.  They were headed up to set up camp and dig a pit to check out snow conditions.  I hope they got some sweet turns in.  I opted to follow the entire lower trail down to switch things up a bit.  Again, in awe of the massive trees surrounding me.  I ran into another small group out enjoying the day.  At the lower trailhead, the snowshoes were removed, and I put on my headphones wanting a soundtrack on the trip down.  The five miles to my car were a blur of tunes, blue sky, white snow and yellow rays from the Sun.  I arrived at the car not sure of the exact time or just how far I traveled.  The curious feeling of being out in the mountains for a long time mixed with a feeling of being out there for barely any time at all washed over me. Timeless, as many writers have described that sensation.  When you are left with that at the end of your time in Nature, you know you had the full experience.

Unfortunately, the following two miles felt like eternity on that shitty road as I munched on my cold bean burrito and cursed every seemingly bottomless pothole I managed to drive into.