Mt. Shasta 14,179 feet

Mt. Shasta: Fifth largest Peak in California*
Summit Fever Challenge 2014
3rd Summit
June 17, 2014
By Stefanie Notte

Well, well, well.  I seem to be making a habit of soloing up mountains these days.  Mt. Shasta is by far one of the most technically challenging adventures I've endured to date.  The summit is not some crazy amount of distance, only 11 miles round trip, but there is a gain of over 7000 feet of elevation which was done mostly in crampons.  That was an experience in itself!  This gorgeous mountain is ranked a Class 3 (or a 2+ depending on the source) and is the 2nd largest mountain of the Cascade Range, coming in only behind Mt. Rainier (14,411 ft).

Mt Shasta 

So real quick, to premise the Summit Fever Challenge, my plan is to summit all of the California 14ers this summer, finishing off with the full JMT approach from YNP to Mt. Whitney (14,508 ft), the highest peak in the contiguous United States (and the only 14er I've summited before this year).  I'm not sure where this love of climbing mountains came from, but for those who think this is extreme or crazy, or even worse: unattainable for themselves, IT'S NOT!  Anyone can do it, it's just one foot in front of the other, with the most rewarding feeling at the top.  You've heard of a "runner's high" before, right?  Summiting is orgasmic compared to that.  There really are no other words to describe it.

condensing of gear 

the gear 

At the gear shop in town, The Fifth Season Mt. Shasta (and the only place to rent crampons), the guy told me to start early, like at midnight, because it takes 4-5 hours to Helen Lake and then another 4-5 hours to the summit via Bunny Flat -->Avalanche Gulch.  I started my climb at 1:30am from Bunny Flat (6,950 ft).  It was 33 degrees outside,  and was a quick and easy trek to Horse Camp (1.7 miles in and 7900 ft) and I was amazed to see people camping here.  At 2:20am, I strolled by these campers whom were all awake and freezing their butts off in the middle of the night.  Yikes.

There is something to be said about hiking in the dark, it's pretty awesome.  All you have is your uni-beam of light and nothing to look at except for the ground. Well, in this case, the "honeymoon" from Friday the 13th was still bright as ever and the sparkling stars were gorgeous,  but every time  I looked up, I seemed to have tripped over a rock.  This is not uncommon even when I'm looking down.  The other benefit of trekking in the dark is that you cover miles of terrain and gain some pretty serious elevation without really noticing.  And if you are on an "out and back" hike, you have something to look forward to on your way to the car, aside from getting to the car itself!

And this is worth a quick mention: Mt. Shasta is a "pack out your poo" mountain.  They provide bags at the trailhead that consist of 1) a somewhat large piece of paper with a bullseye on it, specifying to aim your poo in the center, 2) two lunch sized paper bags with some kitty litter in them which you are supposed to place your folded up poo paper in, and double bag it--yes, in paper bags, and 3) a thin Ziploc-esque bag that the double bagged, kitty litter poo target goes in.  It may be TMI but I naturally suffer from "poo anxiety" and well, simply put, if it doesn't feel right, it's not happening.  This may be one of the few times my poo anxiety worked in my favor.

My next destination was Helen Lake (10,443 ft) and I walked clear passed it without noticing.... This was where my first planned break was supposed to be, however, there was no point in stopping now since the hose to my (full) 3 liter Camelbak was frozen solid and the wind was starting to get out of control. And, don't let it deceive you, you can't see the lake! Instead, there's a bunch of bunkers in the snow for tent camping, probably set up around said lake. I noticed this camp when I was maybe at 11,000 ft, when the sun was starting to illuminate the sky: just before 5am.

Helen Lake

Red Banks 

Be prepared for some serious elevation gain after Helen (no) Lake.  It is steep and straight up (no switchbacks!).  This is probably normal for climbing on glacial mountains but it t'was a first for me. This is also where I geared up: helmet, crampons, and ice axe.  I actually did saw falling rocks, and if a rock was lucky enough to hit a giant boulder, it would explode!  I'm not a physics major, so I can't say exactly how fast they were charging down the mountain, but let me tell you, your helmet may not prevent them from knocking you out. Anyway, once the sky lit up I could see the Red Banks (about 12,800 ft).  There are chutes between these volcanic rock formations and the one to take is to the furthest left.  This is important.  I honestly didn't know how steep this chute was until the descent, but from the beta I gathered at the gear shop, this is the chute to take since the others are quite a bit more dangerous.

The chute, incredible rock formations 

in the chimney itself, looking up 

top of the chute, looking down

After gaining the Red Banks, you get to the base of Misery Hill.  Jeez, what kind of name is that?  I arrived here at 8:28am, and this is where I took my first real break.  I ate a frozen apple (it was gross, but was my only source of water for the last 5 or so hours), and a Clif Bar which was so hard it felt like my teeth were going to shatter.  I don't think I've emphasized enough how cold I was: without the wind, I was perfectly layered up: three up top, two on bottom, a Buff for my face, and a hat and gloves.  With the wind, I thought I was going to die.  The gusts were easily 60+ mph and made me quite unsteady, actually pushing me around.  It was soooo cold.  And, I HATE WIND! The few pictures I took were with my Canon Power Shot camera (not the trusty iPhone 4) since I could leave my gloves on when snapping a pic.  The instant I took one glove off (couldn't get the damn cap off of the chapstick) my fingers went blue and took an eternity to warm up.  Oh, and once you are here, the wind never dies down. I was completely exposed to all the elements from being on a plateau, but looking on the bright side, there was awesome view of Lassen Peak (10,463 ft) due south.

Moving along, after gaining the 3000 ft of elevation from the lake,  and moseying up the next section, I decided Misery Hill should be renamed The Red Carpet.  This was the last major elevation gain before the summit push and was not nearly as direct of a climb as those last few hours (welcome back, switchbacks!).  The top of the hill is about 13,840 ft and once you are here it's less than an hour to the summit with only a mere 500 feet (elevation) to go.

the summit 

At 10:00 am, I reached the summit of Mt. Shasta!  This was my third 14er of the year and damn, I felt GREAT!  I was the 3rd person of the day to reach the summit, the first guy literally ran in his crampons (who does that?) and the second person was Uncle Pat.  Okay, so this is crazy: Uncle Pat asked me where I was from, and I said SLO.  He told me he has a niece studying nutrition at Cal Poly, and I'm like whaaaaaaat?!  It turns out I knew her, she was my lab partner in my first nutrition class at CP and we have been in multiple classes together since.  Totally random, right?  It was Uncle Pat's birthday and his 20th time summiting this beast.  He's a star.

the summit

Uncle Pat and me 

Next on the agenda was the descent.  Usually, this is where I would skip to the end of the story because the way down is usually boring and uneventful... however, not here on Shasta!  There is basically a slide down the mountain where these crazy alpinists just commit and glissade down. Being that it was such a cold day, the slide down the mountain was almost too dangerous to take, in my humble opinion. As I was descending with Uncle Pat and his two friends, they totally charged it, glissading at a speed I could not even fathom.  That is, until self arresting became a reality for one of the guys, and maybe there was some blood shed.  It was terrifying to slide down here, too fast, too steep.  I entertained it a few times, and then just had to descend the normal boring way... walking. Ah, bummer, it would have shaved off over an hour of hiking down in the ankle-busting crampons that were starting to cramp my style.

descending the Mt. Shasta way

It wasn't until after Helen Lake where glissading was a possibility for me; I descended more than 1500 ft of elevation sliding down Shasta on my butt.  It was almost worth going back up to do it again, it was so fun!  But, unfortunately, my new Lowa mountaineering boots left an amazingly huge blister on the back of my right heel otherwise I would have contemplated it.

As I was rolling through Horse Camp I looked as though I was "ridden hard and put away wet:" limping from the hole in the back of my foot, wearing all of my layers because I was too lazy to carry them, and swinging my ice axe because it was fun.  There were lots of people here now, and this little eight year old girl whispered to the grown up to her left, "look Mom, she's a mountain climber!"  Whoa, hold up! Little did this girl know she just made my day.  A mountain climber, huh?  I never considered myself one before, my only previous assessment of a mountain climber was on The Price Is Right, you know, that game with the yodeling dude who falls off the ledge because you don't know the price of a gallon of Purell Hand Sanitizer?  But shit, she's right, I AM a mountain climber!  I like that.

8 year olds, Dude.

Dear Mt. Shasta, you are a phenomenal mountain.  Out of the three major peaks I've bagged this year, you are the one that I can't wait to climb again.  I loved the new challenges you provided me, even though your burly winds were totally unnecessary.  I cannot wait to come back.

This trip started at 1:30am and ended at 4:00pm.

*more than 300 ft prominence
sources:
 http://www.summitpost.org/avalanche-gulch/155406
 http://timberlinetrails.net/ShastaMain.html

Mount Langley 14,042 feet

Mount Langley #2 in the Summit Fever Challenge

9th tallest mountain in California
June 7, 2014

by Stefanie Notte

When does a hiking trip truly start?  The initial moment when you decide where and when?  The moments of planning leading up to the trip?  The minute you leave your house en route to the destination? When you get to the trailhead?  Well, for me, I have to say my trip to Mt. Langley started last August when I first planned on summiting this beast as a training hike for Mt. Kilimanjaro, but was sidelined due to an unforeseen ankle injury.  It has been on my mind ever since.  This April, there were talks of resurrecting the Mt. Langley adventure, but due to weather and snowy conditions it was unattainable, or simply: it wasn’t the right time.  

Friday, June 6th I was on my way to Lone Pine, the small town with MASSIVE mountains, the largest of course, Mt. Whitney.  I scooped up a permit, with no real accent plan in place.  Was I going to camp at Cottonwood Lakes and make a two day trip, was I going to bust it out in one long day?? The permit god discussed these options with me, and I left the ranger station with an overnight permit, but the challenge of a single day hike started to peak my interest.  As I drove to Elevation, the gear store in the middle of town, it felt real, I started to get that nervous/ anxious feeling in my stomach.  After obtaining crampons and talking with Blair (my gear guy), the dude that AMPED me up, I finally made a plan: camp at the trailhead (10,000 feet elevation), hike those 23 miles via New Army Pass, and call it a day, skip the overnighter.  At 14,042 feet, Mt. Langley is one of the smaller 14ers, so in my mind I categorized this as EASY.  This word is possibly the worst word to describe a hike, especially when elevation is a factor.  Damn those expectations, I know better.

Since I was facing an EASY hike the following day, I wisely spent my 12 hours of acclimating from sea level getting shitfaced drunk at Jake’s Saloon.  I wish I could blame elevation here, however, I’ve established a habit of getting a bit drunky the night before any and all physically challenging events.  I’m not entirely sure why I do this, but now, I just embrace it.  I walked in through the quintessential saloon doors, escaping from the diabolical 97 degree heat, into an air conditioned bar with MJ taking over the sound waves (Man in the Mirror).  I bellied up, ordered the usual (Lagunitas IPA), and scanned the characters in my vicinity, with my eyes stopping on Rennie, the biker dude at the end of the bar.  He became my instant friend, as he didn’t shy away from the talkative girl sitting by herself in a bar where the woman to man ratio was 1:20.  The Shark sponsored the 10 games of pool (my record for the night 2-8, I’ve lost my Pittsfield touch), all my music selections, and then was kind enough to take me out to dinner.  Whatta guy.  

Jake's Saloon

After dinner, Rennie and I parted ways, and then I was off to the trailhead to set up camp and whatnot. The 24 mile Horseshoe Meadow Road climbed about 6500 feet in elevation, bringing me up to 10,000 feet for the night.  In hindsight, I should have gotten here ASAP to acclimatize... my overconfidence in not needing to acclimate before huge hikes may have gotten the best of me....

An excerpt from my journal:

“10:09pm: Im here at the Cottonwood Lakes/New Army Pass Trailhead after a delicious Chinese dinner that The Shark treated me to.  Well, now I have two options: 1) set up camp in the dark and break down for a 4 am start time or 2) do as I did my last epic adventure in Lone Pine: sleep it off in the Mini and be ready to go as soon as I wake up. Hmmmm, well I'm thinking #2 sounds like the relief I need after catching a buzz earlier tonight.  It's a lovely 45 degrees out right now at this elevation, and everything seems to be going flawlessly.

Really... Really?!  I just noticed my leftover dinner leaked all over my passenger seat.  So much brown sauce everywhere! Dear bears of the Sierra, please don't mess wit da Mini! I am in no mood to deal with this.  On that note, I'm throwing in the towel. Tomorrow: Mt. Langley, the elusive peak that has been so close yet so dang unreachable for far too long.

This early Hit The Trail time was ambitious, I ended up waking up at 4:20am and started my trek just as the sun peaked over the ridge: 5:30 am.  As I leisurely walked through Horseshoe Meadow, I was contemplating my day: The Ranger Station stated that there would be lots of snow, and the terrain may be slightly dangerous in some spots.  This confirmed what some insider info I received from the man I met on the JMT forum: he told me he almost became a victim of Old Army Pass two weeks prior, and I should avoid that route at all costs.  I had no idea what I was facing, but I did know that my pounding headache was not subsiding on its own and that’s when I drank 1/4 of my water supply for the day, along with 2 Rapid Release Advil Gel Caps.  

At 8:35 am I took my first map break... This is where I lost the trail due to snowy patches getting in the way.  I ended up taking the more exhausting route, a rock scramble to the base of New Army Pass.  I ate some baby carrots to fuel up, and kept on truckin'.  I was feeling okay, but was battling either a hangover or AMS symptoms, and I was not going to let it get the best of me.  

High Lake, with the morning sun

At the base of NAP I became reacquainted with the trail, and marched up the pass, which consisted of looooooong switchbacks at a mellow grade.  This was a seemingly endless part of the trail, and the first time of the day some real elevation gain was happening.  Essentially, I only had to conquer 4000 feet for the day, but shit... it felt quite different today.  And then it happened, I got passed by a fellow solo hiker, ugh, I hate being passed.  But, he was polite about it, commenting on his lighter load.  It’s true I had about 20 pounds in my pack, but this was a training hike, and I was prepared to stay the night in the off chance I fell off a cliff (in my drunken stupor the night before, I forgot to relay my travel plans to my emergency person...another amateur move).   At the top of the pass there was a snowy patch that I had to walk up, I though this was a good place to boot up and put on my new awesome mountaineering boots.  

At the top of the pass (12,300 ft) I realized my trail runners would have been fine because there was no snow to speak of for the next few miles.  I caught up with the man who passed me, he was perched on a rock just chillin'.  As we were chatting, I mentioned that I lived in SLO, and I like to travel to wherever to climb big mountains. This is where his jaw nearly hit the rock he was sitting on.  This man was also from San Luis Obispo, teaches at the very school that I attend, and likes to do the same crazy shit I do. WTF?!  Yes, it makes sense, this is the perfect place for someone like me to meet people.... He was on his way to summit Cirque Peak, just south of New Army Pass.  And I was off heading north, to lose about 800 feet in elevation just to regain it on a scree field.  Aside from just being longer in general, this is one down sides of NAP (compared to OAP), I hate losing elevation.  

Well, it seemed as though I had a skip in my step after meeting my new friend, and I forgot how shitty I was feeling for a few minutes.  That all changed once I was back to regaining elevation and somehow lost the footpath (created by the two Russians who passed me when I was standing on top of NAP).  As I gained about 1000 feet in elevation, I was on a Class 2 rock scramble, and was moving slow.  It really is a strange feeling knowing what one is capable of on most days, and how the higher up you are, the more challenging simple movements get.  

I knew I had to get further east, so I was trying to make my way over and ended up in the first of two situations of the day.  I had to get through a snowy patch, about 50 feet of it, and thought is was going to be EASY.  Well shit.  This snow was quite cumbersome, it was too soft to stand on, but it laid oh so deceivingly on top of these giant boulders.  I used my trekking poles as probes, trying to find a path with the most resistance.... until that moment where I fell through and was up to my elbows in the fucking snow surrounded by giant fucking boulders.  I was in deep.  My first reaction was pure panic... you know, when your heart is beating so hard that you can’t breathe.  After about 60 seconds,okay, more like five seconds, I took that breath.  And another. My 20 pound pack felt like 50, and my legs were burning from the icy, cold snow.  My only recent rock climbing experience was climbing up a 5-9 chimney, and now that was exactly what I had to do to get out of this predicament.  I took my pack off, placed it in a spot where I could retrieve it with my ice axe, and I shimmied my ass out of that sink hole... Megan and Cristian, thank you for teaching me how to do this!  

At 1:45 pm, I, Stefanie Notte, was standing on top of the southern most 14er in California.  WAAHOOOO!  This was my 2nd 14er of the year, and the first one I’ve done solo.  Holy shit, what a great feeling!  My Russian friends were still hanging out at the top, and on June 7th, I was the third and last person to bag Langley that day.  Okay, time to go.  I spent a good 30 minutes up there, taking in the amazing view.  Just north, I could see Mt. Williamson, the 2nd highest peak in California, with the reputation of being one of the most difficult to climb.  

Old Army Pass, from the turn around point 

I got down the scree/ rock scramble much easier this time... I staying glued to that damn footpath.  That is, until I entertained the idea of taking Old Army Pass down, shedding some distance off from the over all trek.  Here I met Jim, he was a good ol’ Iowan who got denied on his summit attempt.  He was hanging out at the top of OAP when I said I’m going to attempt a descent from here... and in comes situation two of two for the day.  Okay, I should have known better, but I am a sucker for a challenge.  Yes, this pass is steep as shit, yes it was covered in that horrible snow, and well... here I was pushing my sanity to questionable limits.  I got down about 20 feet.  I looked down, and it seemed as though there was nowhere to go... the pitch went inward.  I looked left, it was a sheer rock face.  I looked right, ughhh, snow for days.  And then, that post I read two days ago popped into my head: the one about the poor 31 year old who lost his life descending OAP in 2012.  Today was not the day.  That’s when I looked up, it’s the only way out. In my journal, I stated that “I GOT DENIED” but that's not exactly what happened.  Instead, I made the wiser choice, and I walked away from this situation.  And then there was Jim, he was still just hanging out.  

We walked together for a bit, but he moved slow.  Again, I was a Chatty Cathy and talked his ear off for about two miles. He said I was like a “female boy scout”.  Jim, what the hell does that mean?  I lollygagged with him for a bit longer and then I just had to go.  I was ready to get off this mountain.  I all but ran those last 6 miles from Horseshoe Meadow.  I got to my car, which in all reality, is the best feeling after a day of hiking, only second to summiting.  And yes, I could have camped that night, but instead, I drove back to San Luis Obispo. It was, after all, the weekend before finals.

Dear Mount Langley, 

Thank you for making an honest woman out of me.  You may not be the most challenging of the 14ers, but you are by no means an easy climb.  You taught me that although I think I’m invincible to altitude, I am not.  This was a good lesson for me, since I am currently sitting in a coffee shop (not a bar), gazing over my shoulder at my next challenge: Mt. Shasta (due to finals week, there was a one week delay from summiting this beast and writing about it). 

xoxo
Stefanie