photo by Tom Beelman

"Let's go! Wake up! We're leaving at 4:30!" With climbing season coming to a close, I find myself thinking back to my glacier summit on Mt. Shuksan via the Sulphide Glacier. It's considered one of the easier "basic" glacier climbs, with a summit just over 9300 feet and only 2 sections of STEEEEEP SNOW (my nemesis.) I needed a glacier summit by October 8th to finish the Basic course, so the fact that this climb is known as a "sure thing" was pretty appealing. Mt. Shuksan is located in the North Cascades, just east of Mt. Baker.

The team consists of 5 guys and me; four experienced Mountaineers and another Basic student. We hit the trail at an altitude of 2500 feet; the hike to camp is about 7 miles, mainly on dirt. At the final several hundred feet, there's a ridge of talus and scree capped with snow. We arrive at high base camp (6500 ft) with time to explore, to filter water from nearby glacial melt, and to watch an incredible, bright red moon rise over Washington Pass. Camp overlooks a huge talus field, the forest below, and a distant view of endless summits that include Mt. Baker, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Rainier. Dinner consists of Broccoli and Cheese Mashed Potatoes (freeze-dried,) a liter of Cytomax, and 2 liters of glacier water. Soon it's time for bed. The weather is perfect.

The leader's voice booms with our 3:30 a.m. wake up call; one hour to get ready. I dress in my bag, inhale two cereal bars, GU with caffeine, more water and crawl out of my cocoon to add gear. I tie into the rope at my assigned position and tighten crampon straps before stepping onto the snow. We "move out" by headlamp, staying left to avoid crevasses.

I tend to watch my feet to avoid tripping and I suddenly realize we're no longer moving "across," but "up," kicking steps on a steep slope. Dang. I'm still learning to navigate steep snow. For a moment, I worry that I can't do this, and run through my options: stop and cause a mess, fall and take the team with me or keep going. Okay, so there's really no choice. I stare at my feet and remember that my crampons should fully connect with the snow. Matching the leader's steps, I repeat my new, grammatically incorrect mantra, "lots of crampon, LOTS of crampon." It works and I'm happy.

We're on a ridge which runs between a big crevasse and a mountainside drop off. It leads to an expansive glacier valley that looks like lumpy white sauce in a giant flat pasta bowl colored by red moonlight and littered with big blue-white crevasse teeth. Well, kind of. Just beautiful.

We cross the glacier and soon see the summit pyramid, a pointy outcrop of bare rock. One more stretch of steep snow and we're standing on a 1 ft by 6 ft snow "platform" at the base of the pyramid where we balance carefully and reorganize gear for climbing rock. We ascend the airy southeast ridge, a fun climb with "inspiring" views and shortly after noon, we're at the 9300 ft summit, happy, tired, and eating lunch.

Our leader tells us that rappelling will burn too much time, so we down climb a ravine adjacent to our route of ascent. I'm tired and beginning to slow down and this adds to the feeling of exposure. Soon the co-leader and the other basic student are kindly reminding me of down climbing moves I seem to have forgotten. I follow their guidance and we make progress, reaching the snowline where we plunge step to an outcrop of rocks to change gear for glacier travel.

We descend to camp, quickly pack and we move to the ridge of talus, scree, and snow. On the very last 10 feet of snow and in full view of the leader, I slip, fall and perform a perfect ice axe arrest on a slope that almost has no slope. Call me Grace. After a long return hike, it's 7 p.m. and it's over. We've, hiked, crambled, climbed (and slid) for over 14 hours. I'm thrilled to have summitted, tired, but feel OK. I am craving pizza, beer and chips, in mass quantities. Yuck, I stink. There are monster blisters that have bled into my socks. And sitting on the truck's bumper, with all this, I'm overcome by the feeling that today was just the best.