Mount Shasta, Round 2 - Rocks and Wind

The state of California has numerous landmarks.  Some notable ones include the Hollywood sign, the Golden Gate bridge, Half Dome, etc.  One of the many, and perhaps one of the more secret landmarks of California, is Mount Shasta, a potentially active volcano just off the 5 Freeway near the Oregon/California border.  Standing at 14,157 feet, Mount Shasta is a free-standing mountain and dominates the Northern California skyline.  It is completely blanketed by snow during the winter months and even into the spring and summer, the slopes above 10,000 feet are largely covered year-round.  In June of 2017 I found myself with my friends at the Bunny Flat trailhead preparing to climb this beast of a mountain.  There are several routes that lead to the summit but the most popular route, and the route we were going to take, is through Avalanche Gulch.  Our plan was to climb up to Lake Helen Campground, camp for the night, and push for the summit early the next morning.  We arrived that night at Lake Helen as planned, however when morning came, we were awakened by 50 mile-per-hour winds blowing snow, ice and camping equipment down the mountain.  We waited at the campground for a couple of hours, hoping the winds would dissipate, but they did not let up one bit.  There was no other option except to hike back down to the trailhead.

This past weekend, a year later, another opportunity came to attempt Mount Shasta.  We had been monitoring the weather forecast closely, but unfortunately it looked like the winds were going to be fierce on the day that we were planning to summit.  Due to its prominence and altitude, Mount Shasta is notorious for drawing in extreme and volatile weather, making it difficult for meteorologists to accurately forecast mountain conditions.  These forecasted wind speeds were merely an educated guess and we hoped they wouldn’t be as severe as they were anticipating.  The original plan was for me to drive to my friend Tony’s house after work on Thursday night.  My friends Nemo, Cisko, and I would all pile into Tony’s Jeep Rubicon, hit the road at 8:00 PM, drive through the night, meet up with the rest of the group at the trailhead, climb to Lake Helen Campground on Friday, camp for the night, and push for the summit very early on Saturday morning.  I had planned to leave with them on Thursday night, however due to unforeseen technology issues at work, I needed to come into the office for a few hours on Friday, rather than take the whole day off like I had originally planned.  My new plan was to leave Los Angeles after those few hours of work on Friday, drive myself up to Mount Shasta, hustle up Avalanche Gulch, and catch up to the group at some point along the way.  It certainly wasn’t ideal, but the situation didn’t weaken my spirit, and I was looking forward to attempting this climb again with my friends.

Getting up to Mount Shasta is an endurance event in its own right.  The drive from Los Angeles is between nine and nine and a half hours depending on traffic.  I rolled into town shortly before 11:00 PM on Friday night.  The drive up to the small town at the base of the mountain had been fairly uneventful until I was driving up a pitch black, twisting road through the Shasta-Trinity National Forest to the trailhead.  As I came around a bend, I saw three dead deer lying in the middle of the road.  Startled by the bodies, I slowed to a stop.  Then, to my relief and delight, the three deer were not dead or even injured.  They stood up as I approached.  It was a mother and two fawns.  They stood still and stared at me for a few seconds before casually walking off the road and disappearing into the wilderness.  After that brief delay, I resumed forward progress.  It was very dark, so I drove cautiously, looking for more animals that may be crossing the road.  Several minutes later, a cluster of parked cars emerged in the darkness, indicating that I had arrived.  I took an empty parking space near the sign marking the beginning of the trail.  When I opened my car door, the cold mountain air came pouring in, crisp and refreshing.  I stepped out of my car, admiring the surroundings as I stretched.  It was an absolutely stellar night.  The sky was filled with thousands of shining stars and the tall pine trees that surrounded the parking lot were engulfed in bright moonlight.  In front of my car, the mountain stood prominently in the darkness above the tree line.  I walked over the restroom, brushed my teeth, took out my contacts, retrieved my blanket and pillow from my trunk and spread them out in my backseat.  My plan was to start climbing at around 4:00 in the morning, about the same time that my friends would start pushing for the summit from Lake Helen.  I would hustle up the mountain and hopefully catch them along the way or at the summit.  Before going to sleep, I took one last look at the mountain.  In the darkness, the Lake Helen camping area was visible on the snowy mountain side, well off in the distance.  Somewhere up there my friends had set up camp and were probably already hunkered down for the night.

 

The rooster alarm went off on my cell phone at 3:45 AM the next morning, and I slowly awoke and began preparing for the trek.  The trail from Bunny Flat would lead through the wilderness to the mountain, which looked to be about a half a mile in the distance.  The trail would climb to Horse Camp and would end at Lake Helen.  From there, it’s a more technical climb up the snowy mountain face to the summit, which requires the use of crampons and an ice axe.  I made my final preparations, threw on my pack, and began hiking up the trail towards the mountain.  2017 had been an enormous winter for California, and last year the whole trail was covered in snow all the way to the parking lot.  This year, however, all the snow had melted, and the trail was much easier to navigate.  I hiked through the wilderness, passed by Horse Camp, and by the time I arrived at Lake Helen two hours later, snow had taken over, and the sun had risen.  There were about a half a dozen tents scattered throughout the campground and I set my pack down to drink some water and put on warmer clothing.  Just then, I saw my friend Monica standing outside of her tent looking up at the mountain.  I ran over to her and after saying hi, she explained that Tony, Cisko, and Nemo were the only three out of the group that decided to try to climb to the summit.  Monica, Mariel, Carisa, Linda, Edgar, Ronald, and Ronald’s teenage son Leo had decided that the winds were too severe to attempt the climb, and they stayed at the campground.  The wind had let up a little by the time I arrived, but apparently throughout the night, it had been fiercely strong and howled ruthlessly through the campground.  Carisa, Mariel, and Edgar emerged from their tent and said good morning.  Carisa had been suffering from migraines during the climb up to Lake Helen, but was now feeling better thanks to the magic of medicine.  “You should be able to catch up to those guys” Monica said.  “They’re taking it pretty easy”.  “Cool! I’ll see how far I get” I said.  I bade the group farewell and began the long climb from Lake Helen up to the Red Banks, where I would make a left and climb up Misery Hill to the summit.  Up ahead of me on the slope, several climbers were struggling up the steep, snowy terrain.  To my right up ahead, I could see a man sitting on the mountain side with the rest of his group standing over him.  It looked like something was wrong, but I wasn’t entirely sure.  A strong gust of wind blew down the mountain, causing me to almost lose my balance.  Immediately after it dissolved, I heard voices shouting from above: “Rocks! Rocks!”.  A couple of seconds later, three melon sized rocks came bouncing down the mountain right past me.  The spring snowmelt had dragged rocks and chunks of earth down the mountain and the strong winds dislodged them from the snow near the Red Banks, which were about two thousand feet up the slope in front of me.  By the time the rocks flew past me they had gained enough speed to do serious physical harm if they were to strike a climber.  A bit rattled, I sluggishly continued climbing up the steep incline.  I caught up with a couple from San Francisco.  “Is that guy okay down there?” I inquired.  I pointed to the man sitting on the mountain below.  It now looked like his friends were attempting to carry him back to the campground.  “He was hit by a falling rock.  I think they said his leg may be broken” The guy answered.  Just then, the wind howled and almost blew me over again.  I was growing concerned for my safety and questioned whether I should keep going.  I decided to keep moving forward while being overly cautious to avoid getting injured.  The climb to the Red Banks was steep and tough.  I moved at a snail’s pace in the snow up the 40-degree incline, using my ice axe to help push myself up.  Strong gusts of wind howled down the mountain and pellets of ice bounced off my helmet and snow goggles.  The Red Banks were getting closer and closer with each step, but they still looked to be well off in the distance.  During the last few hundred feet, I was on all fours, using my ice axe to pull myself up the mountain side.  Shortly after reaching the Banks, I saw two men in front of me as I crawled up the mountain.  They were making their way back down, and when I said hello as they passed, I realized it was Tony and Cisko.  Their faces had been disguised by their goggles, helmets, and face warmers.  We embraced in a hug and they explained that they did not summit due to the strong winds and falling rocks.  I learned from Tony that the man sitting on the mountain below had his ankle broken by a falling rock.  Still not good, but less severe than a broken leg.  Upon witnessing the incident earlier that morning, Tony dispatched a rescue team to bring in a helicopter to airlift the man to safety.  I began having doubts about whether I would be able reach the peak.  After a quick break, I slowly moved forward as Tony and Cisko continued back to Lake Helen.  I kept moving and found Nemo a short time later.  He had been climbing at an aggressive pace and was able to summit but advised me to be very careful if I chose to continue.  As he continued his descent, I stood there, unsure of what to do.  Just then a gust of wind blew a few more rocks right past me from Misery Hill and a small stone struck my arm.  I had about three quarters of a mile to cover before I reached the summit, but the strong winds and flying rocks were scaring the hell out of me.  A skilled climber could have trekked to the summit in high winds, and even could have powered through the flying ice pellets, but melon sized rocks being blown at dangerous speeds down the mountain created a major safety hazard.  The Mercy Medical Center in the town at the base of the mountain was not where I wanted my journey to end.  So, demoralizing as it was, I turned around and began making my way back down towards Lake Helen.  There would be no summit today.

 

Descending the slope was just as vexing as the trek up, and I struggled to find an effective way of moving down the steep mountain face.  I tried numerous methods, including side stepping, going down backwards, and the spider crawl method, which involved sitting on my butt, and moving down the mountain with my arms and legs.  Several other climbers were glissading down the slope along the shallow troughs in the snow.  I inched down the mountain from the Red Banks in one of the troughs when suddenly I heard shouting behind me.  “Look out! Look out!”.  A glissading climber was coming down towards me at full speed and I dove out of the way and rolled a good ten feet down the slope, narrowly avoiding collision.  It was a long slog to get back to Lake Helen.  Glissading would have been the fastest way to get down, but the slope was extremely steep, and I refrained from using this method out of fear of hitting a rock and colliding with other climbers.  After an hour and a half of spider crawling, side stepping, and going down backwards, I finally arrived at Lake Helen.  Tony, Cisko, and Nemo had just packed their camping gear and were getting ready to head back down to the trailhead.  Monica and the rest of the team had gone down a while ago and were most likely sightseeing around town.  During the descent from Lake Helen, I saw that there was another glissading shoot carved into the snow.  This descent was less steep, so I decided to give it a shot.  I took off my crampons, sat down, and let gravity take me down the mountain.  I soon discovered that glissading down a snowy mountain takes practice.  The idea is to slide down the mountain and use your ice axe to stay in control, digging it into the snow to slow yourself down.  Like snowboarding, it takes practice to develop the skill and move at a decent speed while still maintaining control.  “Woohoo!” I shouted as I slid down the trough.  By no means was I an expert in glissading.  My butt was numb, and my pants were soaked, but it was a fast, effective, and fun way to get to the bottom of the slope where the snow ended.  Once the snow ended, Cisko, Tony, Nemo, and I made the quick descent back to the trailhead.  As we made our way down to Horse Camp, I was in awe of the beautiful setting.  Colorful rocks lay strewn along the path, tall green pine trees dominated the landscape, and snow-capped mountain peaks jabbed at the sky in the distance in front of us.  Once back at the trailhead, we caught up with Ronald and his son, Leo.  Tony had heard that Monica, Mariel, Linda, Carisa, and Edgar were having lunch at Black Bear Diner, so we drove over there to meet up with them.  When we arrived I met Linda, who had been sleeping when I hiked up to Lake Helen.  She had driven down from Portland, Oregon to join us on this adventure.  After enjoying a hot meal, sharing stories, and lots of laughs, we said our goodbyes, congratulated each other on our attempt, and began the long drive back home.  The traffic was lighter coming home than driving up, and I finally arrived back home shortly after 1:00 in the morning after nine hours of driving.  I dropped my bag, changed my clothes, brushed my teeth, and promptly fell asleep shortly after lying down.

After two attempts and no summit at Mount Shasta, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little frustrated.  Even though I was annoyed that I had failed to reach the summit again, I was thankful that I had gotten back safely and that I was still able to enjoy the natural beauty of this mountain.  No mountain is worth injuring yourself or dying for.  Summit or no summit, Mount Shasta is one of the most beautiful mountains I’ve ever seen.  There truly is no place quite like it.  I may not have summited this time, but I know that somehow, some way, we’ll be back next summer for round three.  Third time’s a charm!