“I wonder how many people have died of dehydration because they were afraid to drink from streams.”
“My only rule is that I don’t drink water with dead cows in it.”
“I won’t drink water that’s on fire.”
Don and I exchanged bemused looks after our brief encounter with a Canadian/German pair who had stopped drinking during a heat wave because they’d broken their water filter. We assured them that it was probably safe to drink from mountain streams, and that it might even be more beneficial than self inflicted kidney failure.
Several miles down river we found the German’s toiletry kit spread out, abandoned or forgotten, on the side of the trail, complete with styling gel, hair brush, hand mirror, fingernail clippers, 3 razors, 3 tubes of sunscreen (that’s gonna leave a mark), and 2 large bars of soap. My nails DID need clipping. No conditioner, though. Damn.
The Ptarmigan Traverse attracts all types, including two grizzled curmudgeons with matching blue boots and thirst for the remote and spectacular.
Our plan was a good one: exchange car keys with a team of 2 (Ivan and JoshK) headed northward; we drive their rig home, they drive ours. In addition, they would leave mountain bikes stashed at the Downey Creek trailhead. Neither team followed it, but it was a good plan anyway.
We never actually connected; the impetuous boyz came, dropped a note and a car key in my mail slot, and left for the woods on Sunday afternoon. Don and I headed out Monday morning for Cascade Pass. Both teams held fast to a hope that the other team would follow through. I predicted we’d meet up with our contrarians at White Rock Lakes.
Our first sign that we were not alone on the traverse came in the form of an orange splat of what appeared to be someone’s half digested dinner and 3 cigarette butts at Cache Col, probably the maximum range from the truck for white trash on the traverse. At Koolaid Lake we stumbled on an empty pack and week’s worth of food conveniently yardsaled out for the local fauna, including a liter of what looked to be whiskey. That posed a moral dilemma for Don; is it better karma to refuse this gift from the universe or steal? Or, at least I thought it posed a moral dilemma.
“I had no problem taking it, but I thought we might run into them later.”
At Art’s Knoll we rendezvoused with our goat chaperone and continued to a beautiful bivvy just beyond Spider Col.
Our shadow near Art’s Knoll
Our goat milled around until the following morning, hoping for a taste of night water, and finally left us as we dropped through the col to climb Formidable. Don and I took separate, low 5th class gullies on the mountain’s south face to the summit, then scrambled the bunny route down. The summit, by the way, is the far left pinnacle. Complicated route descriptions aside, that’s probably all anyone needs to know to find their way up. We then moved camp to a gorgeous bench just beyond and above Yang Yang Lakes, just in time for the clouds to settle in.
Formidable Glacier
Hairy, well endowed man leaps over Formidable
You never know when Don will drop into a yoga pose. Formidable descent
Paintbrush. South face of Formidable
Paintbrush. South face of Formidable
The following morning we gained LeConte’s summit in one brutal half hour push. The fog broke for ten minutes on the summit. From there we traversed the Dana Glacier and decided to scale Old Guard and skip the far more rotten Sentinal. This fun little peak offered one of the most incredible panoramas in the Cascades.
LeConte rendered in rock and cloud
Sandwort. LeConte Peak
Tiny sedums. West face of Old Guard
Above the Middle Cascade Glacier. Spire Point area in the background
Above White Rock Lakes. Dome Peak in the background
As we descended steep snow to White Rock Lakes, we heard a hoot. Sure enough, it was the boyz, playing a backcountry version of Battleship with rocks and floating lake ice. Amazingly, JoshK had managed to shoehorn his Audi Quattro all the way to the Downey Creek trailhead, bypassing the Suiattle River Road’s two major washouts via narrow ATV trails, eliminating the need to tack on 12 miles of biking to our trip’s end. The moon came up, a deer wandered in, shooting stars began to fall, and the magic continued.
White Boyz rocking out at the White Rocks
Crab cloud. White Rock Lakes
Moonrise over Sinister. White Rock Lakes
Nocturnal visitor, with Dome Peak in the background. White Rock Lakes
White Rock Lakes is where the truly spectacular part of the traverse begins, but most folks shunt this section and head for Bachelor Creek. Our plan was to climb Dome and Sinister, backtrack, and do the same. Don came up with the idea of carrying over Sinister, descending the East Ridge, and going out via the Hanging Gardens, Canyon and Image Lakes, and the Suiattle River Trail. I’d have to stretch my food for such a significant increase in effort (same number of days), but, never having seen the Hanging Gardens, I was all for it.
And stretch I did. I spent the afternoons of the next three days trudging through a hypoglycemic funk, brow furrowed, scowl affixed, surviving the heat by soaking my hat and shirt in streams. It was worth it, but I’m not in any hurry to repeat the performance.
Negotiating the Dana Glacier en route to Dome Peak
Pine sawyer beetle (monochamus) with hitchhiker. Dana Glacier
Banded gneiss. Dana Glacier
Rockfall. Dana Glacier
We climbed Dome and Sinister the following day, surrounded by fantastic white granite spires and walls. Dome presented no difficulties, but Sinister’s West Ridge was well guarded by a gaping bergschrund. Rather than cross a sketchy snow block, we opted to drop into the moat and rock climb around it’s left side (low fifth) to gain the Dome/Sinister col (snow bivvy only), then took the ridge up directly from the col (some fifth). To our pleasant surprise, the original summit register was still up there.
Penalty for shitting all over the 8600’ bivvy: mummification. Dome Peak
8600’ col. Dome Peak
8600’ bivvy. Dome Peak
Approaching the summit of Dome Peak
Descending the Chikamin Glacier, just below the 8600’ col
Sizing up the bergschrund below the Dome/Sinister col
On Sinister’s summit, sporting a bootied feather boa
Sinister’s original summit register
By then, we’d abandoned our plan to descend the unknown East Ridge with full packs and a 30 m rope and drop directly from the west side col instead, preferably in the afternoon to take advantage of the softer snow. We terraformed a couple of bivvy spots about 1500’ down from the col.
The following morning we dropped down a steep, treed buttress almost to the valley bottom, then traversed several hundred yards of steep, tall timber with a slide alder finish to gain an obvious talus draw to Ross Pass.
The fabled Hanging Gardens, with flowers in full bloom and incredible views of Dome and Sinister, didn’t disappoint. If ever there is an Elysian Fields for mountain people, this is it.
Dome and Sinister from the Hanging Gardens
Once through Totem Pass, the route became familiar to me from previous visits. We camped just north of the Image Lake col our final evening, enjoying an expansive view of the Bath Lakes ridge, with Dome and Sinister as a backdrop. After that, it was just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other, over and over and over and over….
Calling card. Canyon Lake
The car! Plagued by heat and hunger, raw toes, chafed crotch, burned lips, a painful boil on my chin, and creaky back, complaining knee, and generally shitty attitude, I was really glad to finally see it.
Don turned the ignition key. Dead. No indicator lights, no sound, nothing. Luckily, JoshK had told us about the battery jumper he carried behind the driver’s seat. We got it out.
“Wait a minute. This is just an air compressor. I wonder if Josh realizes that.”
“Shit. We’ve only got one mountain bike in the car”. The other was stowed in the bushes 12 miles downriver.
Don turned the ‘compressor’ around to find a complete set of battery jumping instructions on the opposite side. Yeah, baby.
It’s hard to beat finishing up a long trip with some four wheeling in someone else’s relatively new Audi Quattro. Street tires required a certain forward momentum. Don drove, I provided videography.
Having done every variation save Agnes Creek, the Hanging Gardens route is arguably the most spectacular way to complete the Ptarmigan Traverse. Drop JoshK a line beforehand; maybe he’ll loan you his Audi.
