Mount Shasta Round Three: Frozen To The Core

It was as if I had stepped into an action/thriller movie that has viewers eager to see what happens next.  I was all alone, it was 3:30 in the morning, and darkness completely engulfed me.  The beam of my flashlight illuminated the white, snow covered ground and the tall pine trees surrounding the small clearing in which I was standing.  I had left the parking lot at the Bunny Flat trailhead thirty minutes earlier and was heading towards the base of Mount Shasta but somehow I had wandered off the snow covered path and was now lost.  I scanned the area with my flashlight in search of any signs that marked the trail but all I saw was snow and trees.  Backtracking wasn't an option because I didn't know exactly where I had gone off course and it would have only made things worse.  I had no idea where I was and the situation was becoming unsettling.  I turned around and shined my flashlight in the direction I had come from hoping to see distant lights from other climbers, but it was just me, myself, and I in this small wilderness clearing somewhere between the Bunny Flat trailhead parking lot and the base of Mount Shasta.  There were no lights from other climbers, not a sound to be heard.  "Oh man, this isn't good" I thought.     

I had been looking forward this weekend of adventure for some time.  Throughout the spring I had thought about when I wanted to make my annual attempt and climbing Mount Shasta.  I had thought about going solo, but when my friends Dave and Iris invited me to join them on their trek that they were going to be doing during the second weekend in June, I jumped at the opportunity.  When Friday evening came around, I left work after a very busy but productive week.  When I got into my car, I clapped my hands.  "Mount Shasta, I'm coming for you!" I said excitedly.  The plan was for me to go home, get a couple hours of sleep, wake back up around 9:00 PM, get on the road, get something to eat along the way, make the five-hour drive to the Bunny Flat trailhead, and start trekking around 3:00 AM.  The drive, which consisted of a stop at McDonald's early on, and a stop at a Valero gas station in the town of Red Bluff at 1:00 AM for some coffee and provisions, was fairly uneventful.  When I finally arrived in town, I began the eleven-mile drive to the trailhead.  This winding, uphill road on the outskirts of town that would eventually dead end at the starting point for the trek, is extremely remote.  It was pitch black beyond the beams of my headlights, and enormous pine trees lined the road on both sides.  When driving through such a desolate area all alone in the dead of night, your mind plays tricks on you and any little thing will make you jump.  Anytime I came around a bend and saw a reflector, road sign, or a parked car, I would be mildly startled.  I drove up the road with reserve, knowing that there were several animals in the area and they can appear in the road without warning.  I was the only car on the road, so when I came to a straight section that had adequate distance between bends, I slowed to a stop and shut off my headlights just for the fun of it.  "Oh my god!" I said with nervous laughter.  The no-headlight fun only lasted about five seconds before I got too freaked out, turned them back on, and kept going.  Arriving at the trailhead, I was surprised at the unusually large amount of cars in the parking lot.  I chose a spot further down the road and gathered my supplies.  Mountaineering requires additional gear that I had to rent, and as I made my preparations, I went through my mental checklist; helmet, ice axe, crampons, water, food, sunscreen, flashlight, bandana, snow goggles.  The thermometer in my car read twenty-nine degrees and as I stepped out, the chilling air came pouring in.  The night was filled with shining stars, trees, snow, and Mount Shasta rested majestically in the distance above the treeline in front of me.  Dave, Iris, and our two other friends Scott, and Tara had begun their trek on Friday afternoon.  They set up camp for the night at the Helen Lake camping area, elevation 10,460 feet, about halfway up the climb, and were planning on starting their trek to the summit at 3:00 AM, about the same time that I was going to be leaving the parking lot.  My plan was to hopefully catch them either on the way up or at the summit and we would hike back to the parking lot together.  

Things got pretty hairy early on.  It had been an extremely snowy winter in California, especially in this southern stretch of the Cascade Range.  No sections of the path that led from the parking lot to the base of Mount Shasta were visible; the whole trail was covered in several feet of snow.  I put on my crampons at the very beginning, but the left one kept coming off.  It took me several minutes, but I finally was able to secure it properly so it would stay on my boot.  I followed the signs and managed to stay on the path for a little while, but at some point I wandered off course and found myself in a small clearing in the darkness.  I had gotten lost and despite the large amount of cars in the parking lot and observing a few other groups preparing for the trek, it seemed that no other climbers were anywhere to be found.  Trying not to panic, I reminded myself that worst case scenario, I could wait here for a couple more hours until the sun began to rise, which would provide just enough light for me to navigate my way through the trees and get back onto the path.  Just as I began seriously considering that option, I heard voices.  I turned around and sure enough, there were lights from a group of climbers glowing in the distance.  "Thank God" I thought.  I made my way towards the group.  As I emerged in the beams of their flashlights, I asked "hey guys, do you know how to get back on the trail?"  It was a group consisting of one guy and three girls who turned out to be not climbers, but nordic skiers.  They were from San Francisco and planned to nordic ski up the mountain as far as they could, and alpine ski back down.  They were a friendly bunch and seemed as happy to seem me as I was to see them.  We made our way through the trees and crested some small hills as we followed their GPS directions back to the trail.  Eventually, the trees cleared, and the base of the mountain emerged prominently in front of us.  We all cheered and celebrated that we successfully navigated our way through the dark wilderness.  We stuck together for a little while and as the sun began rising, I thanked them for their help, bade them farewell, and pushed on up the mountain.  Trekking through the snow up the mountain face, I arrived at the Helen Lake camping area about an hour and a half later.  Arriving at Helen Lake was almost like stepping into a small village.  One minute I was alone on a mountain face with snow stretching as far as the eye could see, and the next, I came over a hill and there were dozens of tents set up with shovels, skis, and mountaineering gear strewn around.  As I passed through camp, climbers were outside their tents preparing for the push to the summit, and several climbers were on the slope making their way up already.  I assumed that Iris, Dave, Scott, and Tara were somewhere up the mountain, about halfway to the summit by this point.  The sun had now made its way into the sky and it was going to be a warm day.  Even though the temperature was twenty-nine degrees at the start, the effort during the demanding trek had my blood pumping, and I had taken off my fleece to keep from sweating.  I sat on a pile of snow admiring the spectacular view and ate some food to refuel.  As I prepared to head off for the climb to the summit, a blast of frigid air swept through the camp, flapping tents, and almost blowing me off my feet.  I decided it was probably a good idea to put my fleece back on as I began the steep climb to Red Banks.  Several other climbers were making their way up the route with me and it was slow going.  The slope was at a forty-degree angle and approaching 11,000 feet in elevation.  It was challenging to maintain anything beyond a snail's pace.  I watched as other climbers further up the slope had adopted a technique that entailed created their own switchbacks.  They were climbing in a zig zag pattern, about twenty steps in each direction, gradually making their way up.  This method was not only effective in conserving energy, but was also faster.  Going straight up was much more physically demanding and resulted in smaller steps due to the steep grade.  I decided to give it a try in an effort to make better time.  

Unfortunately, things got ugly pretty quickly.  That initial blast of frigid air at Helen Lake was only a prelude to the conditions I would face during the climb to Red Banks.  Seventy mile-per-hour winds howled down the gulch and blew ice and snow straight at us.  Every thirty seconds a massive wind gust would blow through, and we would have to get on our knees and duck to avoid being blown down the slope or pelted in the face by snow and ice.  By this point, I was about two hundred feet shy of Red Banks.  From there, it was about a 1,600 foot climb over about a mile and a half to the summit.  After being hit hard by a slurry of ice pellets from another seventy mile-per-hour gust and in need of a break, I turned towards the the downward slope and sat down on the mountain, pondering my next move.  Several other climbers around me deemed the conditions unsafe and were heading back down towards Helen Lake, which rested in the distance, about 1,400 feet down.  I grabbed the tube of the internal bladder of my backpack to drink some water, but as I bit down on the spigot, ice crunched inside;  The contents of my internal bladder, along with the water that was in the tube had frozen solid.  So much for being able to drink water.  I made another troubling discovery a few seconds later while moving my right arm in front of me to look at my watch.  Apparently while I had my fleece tied around my waist during the trek up to Helen Lake, water had leaked all over the right sleeve from the tube of my internal bladder; I had forgotten to seal the spigot.  The frigid temperature, which at this point was in the low teens, along with the overwhelming winds had frozen the water and created a thin layer of ice that covered the entire back of my sleeve.  I wore snow goggles for eye protection, and the bandana that I wore to protect my face was now also frozen solid from the condensation that was created from my breath making contact with the frigid air.  Scariest of all, I couldn't feel the tips of my two middle fingers on my left hand anymore.  I took my glove off, flexed my fingers, and touched them to my thumb, but they had gone completely numb.  I put them in my mouth in a desperate attempt to warm them, which seemed to remedy the situation after about thirty seconds and the numbness was replaced with tingling.  As I prepared to put my glove back on, another gust blew snow on my bare hand, turning my fingers red.  When I got my glove on, my hand was so cold, the pain felt as if someone had sliced my fingers with a knife.  I gritted my teeth and my left eye misted up with a few tears of excruciating pain.  This was the first time in my life that I was seriously afraid that I was going to get frostbite.  It was a desperate moment.  I decided that I simply could not continue in these conditions and began making my way back down the slope along with several others.  It was tough going back to Helen Lake down the steep slope and high winds, but I flexed my fingers as I made my way down, and was eventually able to restore the feeling in my hands.  I hadn't seen my friends yet and was unsure if they had made it to the summit, so when I got down to Helen Lake, I decided to wait for about thirty minutes to see if they would show up.  There was no cell phone service, so I decided it was better to get out of the bitter cold and make my way down to the parking lot where I could send the group a message and find them.  

Because Helen Lake is a flat surface followed by a hill, it shields most of the winds that barrel down from the summit of the mountain, so after I made my way down the slope from Helen Lake, the winds dissipated.  The mid morning sun had partially melted the snow, turning it soft and fluffy, so when I came upon a two hundred foot slope, I decided to glissade down to the flat surface, meaning I sat down with my legs stretched out in front of me and allowed gravity to take me down the slope, using my ice axe to control my speed.  It was a fun descent and I let out a hoot as I slid past a group of climbers going up.  As time passed and distance was covered, the daylight made it much easier to navigate the way back.  It was shortly after 12:30 PM when I arrived back at the parking lot, so the trek had taken roughly eight and a half hours.  As I changed into shorts and flip flops at my car, I took off my sock and saw that I had lost a toenail that had become loose during the previous weekend at the Bishop High Sierra 100K.  This was the third toenail I had lost in the last three weeks from all the training I had been doing lately and I was relieved that it was gone because it had been driving me crazy.  I still hadn't seen my friends so I messaged the group thread on Instagram and found out that they had also not made it to the summit, but they had made it down safely and left the parking lot ten minutes earlier.  They had just arrived at a pizza restaurant and I made my way down the winding road into town to join them.  Our post climb pizza and beer meal was full of laughs and story telling.  Iris had told me that when they woke up at Helen Lake at 2:00 AM to prepare for the trek, it was so cold and the winds were so strong that no one wanted to get out of their sleeping bag.  After waiting at Helen Lake for four hours with no signs of the winds calming down, they decided to pack up their gear and head down to the parking lot.  I was happy that we had all made it back safely and even though we didn't get to climb together, it was so great to see my friends, even if it was for a short amount of time.  They had come up from Los Angeles and were going to be spending the night in Sacramento and driving back the next day.  As we parted ways, we embraced in a hug and promised that we would make plans soon for some summer hiking in the Sierras.  Driving through the night and climbing into the morning was great preparation training for Tahoe Rim Trail 100, but I was pretty wiped out and needed to pull over to take a forty-five minute nap at a rest stop thirty minutes into my drive back home.  Other than that, the drive back was smooth sailing.  It was unfortunate that I was unable to summit this mountain yet again due to unfavorable weather, but the experience and time with my friends made it all worth it.  No summit is worth putting yourself at risk.  The great thing about mountain summits is they will always be there and there will be plenty more opportunities to climb them.  Mount Shasta doesn't have a history of having cooperative weather, but I will get out there and reach the summit eventually.  "Cheers, Mount Shasta, until next time!" I said, as I drove down the freeway and the mountain disappeared in my rear view mirror.