Exposure on Mt. Shuksan
Mt. Shuksan sits on a glacial throne at the head of the White Salmon Creek valley, towering nearly 6000 feet over the valley floor. Shuksan is the most photographed mountain in the North Cascades, but I can't imagine the hordes of tourists snapping phone pics from Artist Point could possibly understand how small they should really feel. It didn't hit me until Helen, Dan, and me started linking switchbacks underneath the blue seracs of the Hanging Glacier, fully exposed with nowhere to go but up.
I won't bury the lede - we didn't summit. Lost time eventually ran out our self-imposed clock through a combination of early-morning bushwhacking, slow transitions, and rope team growing pains. The White Salmon Glacier route is a big day where everything needs to go right, and we just didn't play the hand needed to summit while staying within our margin of safety. While we didn't tag a new summit, we did get a full day of mind-melting proportions.
Uphill
After some morning faffing in the woods, our route traveled up the White Salmon Glacier, following a skin track generously set by two faster parties. The glacier was pretty filled in, with only a few visible crevasses peeking out through the powder. We roped up for the upper third, which was probably a mistake. Rope team travel was strained and the last pitch involved traversing a 50-degree snow face - not exactly the right place to be tied in.
The rest of our route took us up onto the Upper Curtis and Hanging Glaciers for a one-two punch of booting and skinning. We ended our climb at a saddle roughly 800 feet below the summit, with panoramic views of the North Cascades and Mount Baker. We had hit our turnaround time and solar aspects were firming up = no summit. Just ahead of us, two parties skied down towards the entrance of the Northwest Couloir, a serious ski line with a truly sustained "no-fall" zone. Maybe next time ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.
"Holy shit, we are fucking out here" just kept circling around my head this entire time. There's nothing like skinning above open crevasses and ice falls to make you feel like a soft bag of scared meat. Intrusive thoughts threatened my mental state. What if someone broke a toe piece, or twisted a knee? A mild inconvenience could turn into an all-night epic. I placated my anxieties and took a breath before the descent.
Downhill
From the Hanging Glacier saddle, we party-skied down our uptrack with Mount Baker in the full windshield view. The glacier offered us the familiar, wind-pressed styrofoam snow native to the alpine environment. On the last pitch before the White Salmon, we linked careful turns back down our bootpack on a crusty, choppy face. The pitch here was mild, but the exposure was severe. 200 feet below, the Upper Curtis Glacier ended in thin air. Falling was not an option. There's something ironic about skiing a blue square type of slope with a serious threat of death looming below. We all sideslipped nervously to safety. With toes pieces locked, mind you.
Crossing back to the northern aspects, we reached the grand prize - the face of the White Salmon. Steep-ass, deep-ass powder for 2500 feet with a first pitch at 45 degrees. With another group transitioning, we ate our ham and brie sandwiches with haste (pinkies up). We hadn't intended to snake their line, but they were all so busy faffing with their shift bindings that we were given no choice but to ski first.
One by one, we ripped turns down the face. Legs burning, the snow was just as good as it looked. Not blower pow, but the supportive, confidence-inspiring stuff that invites you to open it up. No pics, sorry! Too busy shralping.
Down at the bottom, we spent less than 300 feet skiing shmooey crud before the creek valley turned to ripe, delicious corn. We ollied off fun rollers all the way back to climb out of the valley.
It was heinous, sloppy booting back to the Mt Baker Ski Area, post-holing to my hip on every fifth step. Luckily, I've already forgotten. Same time next weekend?
