Shasta Attempt #2: Angle of Approach

I could argue that my first attempt to climb Mount Shasta in 2001 shouldn't count because I was so naïve and really had no hope making it. But I have to count it, because Attempt #2 wouldn’t have been the same without it.

I started hiking in 2001 along the coastal range of California in Big Sur, but I was by no means climbing mountains. Despite that lack of experience my friend and I intended to climb Mount Shasta over a weekend. Andy and I hatched the plan on a Friday evening in August over beer and after watching, “The Wicker Man (1973).” We were both living in Monterey, CA and attending language school. We knew we would soon be deployed to God-knows-where hot, and we were soaking up the California lifestyle while we still could.

The conversation was just this simple. I said, “I really want to climb Mount Shasta. I’ve been reading a little, and I think it sounds great.” “Heath, that does sound good. Let’s do it. But we would need to leave really early, because it’s like 6 hours to drive up there I’m sure. Could you drive tomorrow?” A little surprised that someone in the room called my bluff, I said, “Sure I could drive, that’s what the 4-Runner was made more!”

Neither of us knew the faintest about mountaineering, but on the way up we did try to do a little strategic planning. Let's see....the weather? It was just sunny, sunny, sunny and in the middle of August. No problem there. Maybe a little cool at night. I researched online and found a shop that rented gear....The 5th Season. No problem renting a tent there and getting a little info. And that was about it on the planning. Never mind rock fall, snow travel, the ten essentials, or even climbing boots.

We woke up in our newly rented tent at Horse Camp. The camp was free of snow and the earth had that dry, powdery volcanic quality. We moved quickly once we were up, thinking that time was of the essence and that we needed to take advantage of our early 6 am start. Little did we know that the reason the camp was so quite is probably because all the other parties had left at 3 am. Better yet, two months ago at 3 am when the rock- fall danger wasn’t insane and there was still snow to climb and not baking hot pumas rock.

We rolled out of bed and assembled our gear. I had a backpack made for school books, a 1ltr bottle of water and some beef jerky. That could have been it. I was wearing hiking boots that I had just bought at an REI used gear sale, and a polyester shirt from the thrift store that I liked to hike in.

Andy was another story. He had a Zen-like austerity in his dress. He was always wearing T-shirts that were hanging on by a thread and shoes that were flapping around. Today was little different, except he was wearing his barely-used Navy issued work boots. He got away with it probably because his feet calloused up from the usually lame slippers and his steady diet of marathons.

Besides his clothing, his kit included him carrying a gallon jug of water up the mountain in one hand and a bag of 6 Macintosh apples in other hand. Would John Muir have been proud? At the time it only seemed half odd. He just casually smiled and said, “Ready to go?” without thinking twice about his preparations.

We started up Avalanche Gulch, slogging at times through the loose rock, strolling at other times up the trail. We made it pretty far given our experience: to Helen Lake (10K). The view was unlike anything I had ever seen as a surfer growing up in Florida. I sat there and saw the state of California framed by two ridges, just dumbstruck. I had no plans to come back. I was satisfied and thankful. We decided to stop because we heard about all the late season rock fall up the route, and because I was feeling the altitude pretty good.

We descended, returned the tent, drove home, and called the weekend a success. How could you not count that Attempt #1?

Attempt #2 probably represents the apex of my first season really climbing. My wife (Allyson) and I moved to Portland a little over a year ago, and in an attempt to meet more people and become more intimate with our new home, Allyson gave me the Basic (BCEP) Course for my birthday. I spent weeks and weeks in the early spring meeting people and learning new skills. Needless to say, that I ended up being really affected by the passionate people along the way, and inspired by them to see how far I could stretch myself.

Well, I found out just how far last Memorial Day weekend on the side of Mount Shasta, during Attempt #2. Most people probably don't attempt a 14K foot mountain during their first season. But I felt, and still do, that it is an appropriate challenge for me in regards to fitness and technicality.

I love how much wisdom you have to use in this sport. I have turned back from almost half my climbs, and not felt bad about it. Since I’m not afraid to go home, I’m also not shy about trying the right challenge for me at any given time. That way of looking at it I think really contributed to me being able to push myself. I climbed Mount Hood this season for the first time, and mostly by myself. I ran into people I knew, and they gave me vital advice, and the permission to go-ahead, but I did climb that mountain for the first time in a clean way that I am proud of. Nothing boosted my confidence as much as a couple of fellow climbers who really believed in my ability.

So when those friends invited me on a private climb up Mount Shasta, my heart swelled and I didn't hesitate. It was a challenge that I knew I wanted immediately. We planned for weeks. We sent over 30 emails back and forth. We watched the dynamic weather this early season offered. We developed alternative plans and routes. In the end, our party of four drove the six hours down to that mountain and held our breadth for the weather to hold so that we could try for the West Face.

We made an avalanche danger assessment and decided to get beacons, shovel and and probes from the local shops. I was able to return to The 5^th Season, but a little more prepared this time.

On Saturday morning, we checked in at the Ranger Station on E Alma St in the town of Mount Shasta. It was nice to have someone talk to us about all the routes, the most recent avalanche reports, and point out the trouble spots along our way. They also sold us a map made by the folks at The 5^th Season. It uses photographs along with red lines to highlight common routs. On the other side is a large topo, with heavy-duty paper. You can’t beat that for $10.

Directions were easily attained from the ranger station, and about 10-15 minutes later we were at the end of the road, at Bunny Flat, with the rest of the state of California!

We all left the trailhead in high spirits, carrying a full load and heading in the direction of our base camp at about 9k feet. We were taking a different route than the one I tried before up Avalanche Gulch, but as we were heading to Horse Camp I saw a long line of climbers heading up that now snow-laden route. It's affirming in life when we return to the scene of the crime, charged with memories and excitement, and the place seems slightly familiar but also brand new. All the change in myself and my friends over the last decade became glaring for a few nostalgic moments.

We reached Horse Camp about noon and found it under snow, with the Sierra Club hut barely poking its chimney out. We continued on, after chatting with an organized Mazama group. We traveled carefully through engorged gullies, listening to every little settling of the snow and looking out for any avalanches that may be ready to release from the gullies above us.

We made it to our camp in a small valley under the Western Face route a little over three hours later.

We ate and went to sleep early. Everything seemed a little rushed as we settled in and melted snow and any other chores. I still remember asking our crew, "Am I going to get any carbs from my lentils?" They said no, lentils were protein, so I added a little Sante Fe Soup for the carb kick. What I forgot, crucially forgot, was the olive oil I had brought with me. It's always something, and in this case it was a lack of fat to balance out my dinner.

We were up at midnight and the first to head out into the fresh grey slopes, crunching down a line steps in our wake.

I think what did me in about six hours later, was the elevation, and maybe the lack of fat in my diet the night before. I was just not ready to combat the nausea induced by altitude and the subsequent decline in appetite. I made it to 12,500 ft, and then in a period of roughly 30 minutes my world changed.

The sun rose brilliantly pink, with clouds on the horizon, and an amazing pyramid shadow of Shasta draped over the town below. All I could think was, "Red sky in morning, sailor take warning.” My whole outlook started to get negative, and it only took a little bit for those thoughts to manifest physically.

At first, I fatigued, then I had trouble keeping my balance, then I started to get nauseous, and then I was just hilariously undone. My hands began to really hurt. My blood was starting to leave my extremities and rush to my organs. Consciously, I was not panicking, but I think my body had other ideas. I took off a glove to look at my aching fingers. I have never seen them such a dark hue of purple. I jolted at the way they looked. A team-mate was like, "Put your gloves back on!" and he gave me his hand warmers. He then had to feed me Jelly Beans by hand into my mouth because I couldn’t move my fingers and was acting like such a child.

I went a little further and then my toes started to get cold. I knew it was over. I was going to have a hard time getting my body to pull itself together at that point. After a challenging, but supportive conversation with the team, I decided to head back down the mountain, and call it good for Attempt #2.

We returned to town the next day, each of us falling apart in some way. We stopped at the Billy Goat and I enjoyed the best hamburger I have ever had.

We talked about climbing, and life in Portland, and how Attempt #3 was a charm for a couple in the group. That was my Attempt #2. I trained hard, and invested time and money, and made a personal best. I hope that Andy is out there still doing his thing. I'm beginning another decade in a new place with new people, and I know the next time I look at Mount Shasta, I’m even more likely to be overwhelmed by all the good memories.