Classic climb or classic punishment?

The three peaks of Index are imposing fixtures along US 2, and frequent postcard fodder, rising sentry-like above the namesake town. Three decades ago I climbed the traverse of the North Peak to the Main Peak. For some inexplicable reason, these peaks seemed to be drawing me back for another go. I remembered that earlier climb pleasantly enough, but climbers do have selective memories.

	Lower part, N Peak of Index by Steve Firebaugh

I enlisted my favorite climbing partner, Shirley Rogers. A predawn drive found us at the Lake Serene trailhead one Saturday morning. My van was the only car in a parking area that covered acres and had a fancy new privy. Times have certainly changed here. The hike began up the old roadbed to some waterfalls, and then up heavy timber staircases built into the hillside. My recollection from before was of groveling up tree roots and slabs next to waterfalls. We arrived at the lake in less than an hour, gulped some extra water, and then started the scramble up through hillside brush and talus toward the North Peak North Face.

The weather forecast was stellar – dry through the middle of the following week. The weather we experienced at least started out that way. Sunshine and a warm day allowed climbing to begin in t-shirts.

The North Peak
We followed a faint tread and located what seemed to be the start of the 5th class climbing on a large sloping ledge with some bolts. Several pitches of climbing, with some routefinding dead-ends and backtracks, lead us to the brush: Alaska cedar on steep to vertical rock. Classic. After some pitches of thrashing, we exited right to find ourselves at the N Face landmark – the bowl. Bare and dry. My recollection of this point from my climb before was that here we coiled the rope and kicked steps easily up snow. Now we belayed many tedious pitches up rounded slabby rock that was not difficult, but felt exposed with little for pro, finally emerging at the base of the upper North arête. Several delightful pitches climbed along the sharp arête that at places was less than a foot thick, and ended abruptly in a patch of trees. From there a scramble led to the summit. We took a short break, looked at the summit register (a wet mess from a leaking canister), and then started scrambling down in the direction of the North Peak/Middle Peak notch.

	On N Peak of Index by Shirley Rogers

Middle Peak
The ridge South of the North Peak, which descends to the North/Middle notch, has a number of gendarmes and sometimes bad quality rock. Weaving around or rapping down these features was a time consuming business requiring a lot of attention. The sun was low in the west when we finally reached the notch, and many pitches still separated us from the Middle Peak summit, where we hoped to find much needed snow, our planned evening water source. I then noticed lenticular clouds forming around distant peaks, and more clouds off in the west. Hmm.

With setting sun I lead the first pitch from the notch, which held the crux of the entire traverse: a vertical bulge with a reachy fingertip flake for hands and nothing, really, for feet: an attention getting move which gave me pause, out from pro, in boots and full pack after a long day. Shirley struggled to follow the reachy move. On leading the next pitch, Shirley had a near miss in fading light when she pulled off a large flake that bounced off her leg. She rigged a belay and brought me up so we could assess.

Luckily, Shirley had no significant injuries. We had less than 16 ounces of water left between us. Light was fading fast. We were physically and mentally spent and more than ready to rest. A convenient though tiny notch, surprisingly well protected, was at hand, and seemed just what we needed in the rising wind. Decision made. We started shifting rocks around to make our elected bivy more comfortable for sleeping. Next was dinner - a bit of goo or jerky with sparing sips of the little water we had left, and then we snuggled in for the night. We listened to the wind buffet the ridge and watched the stars go black.

	Shirley & view, summit, Middle Peak of Index by Steve Firebaugh

Morning arrived grey with limited visibility and blowing mist. Bundled up, we climbed out from the bivy and kept on the lee side of the ridge whenever reasonable as we continued the ascent. The rock seemed dry enough, but the wind side heather was wet and slippery. (Be wary of steep heather, doubly so if wet). Ice axes very nearly came out for some of this stuff. After a few pitches along the ridge and climbing over a false summit, we arrived at the Middle Peak summit. There, we took in the lack of view and brisk wind. No register this time. From 30 years before, I remembered a film canister here with a scrap of paper, signed by two parties, one of which included Fred Beckey.

Main Peak
Our desire to get water and get out of the wind influenced our descent direction. Luckily, it was also the correct descent direction. After a short scramble, we found a rap anchor, and near the bottom of the rappel, a snow patch that was also out of the wind.

Breakfast time at last! We started the stove and began melting snow. Freeze dried food, uneaten from the night before, became a brunch feast. After much water consumption, more food, more water, and finally coffee, we were ready to get going again.

Beckey said we could descend easily down to the Middle Peak/Main Peak notch. Classic Beckey. We weren’t so lucky. Routefinding on a complex formation like Index can be tricky enough with good visibility. In the fog we continued down in a S or SE direction. We’d pick our way down until reaching the top of a cliff, wait for a bit of clearing, and then turn and descend in a different direction until stymied again. Sometimes we’d retrace our steps. We would repeat the procedure, and again wait for better visibility. Finally in the afternoon the fog started lifting and we could see the notch! A rappel and short scramble brought us there.

We skirted a small gendarme in the notch on its east, and then roped up to begin the 5th class rock up the North Ridge. Following the first pitch, the sky gradually cleared, more brush was encountered, and more routefinding quandaries arose. Perhaps we now suffered from too much information. Reconciling the guide’s written descriptions with available pictures with my fuzzy recollection and with what we were seeing led mostly to confusion and disagreement. We worked our way up with hits and misses.