The Brewer Creek trailhead, elev. 7,300’.
The hardest part of climbing Shasta is getting everyone on the same schedule, and this year was no different. I had a sore back and almost had to bail, but we pulled it together at the last minute.
Nancy, Rich and I came up early so we could hike/skin to mid-mountain during daylight, and Rob and Dave drove up later in the evening.
Where’s the snow?
We came to the east side of Shasta to ski my favorite run in the world, the Wintun Glacier. You can ski from the summit right down the fall line for almost 4,000 feet, then catch the Wintun-Hotlum snowfield for another 3,000 feet back to the car.
Starting to skin at about 8,000’.
The best time to ski Shasta’s east side is usually the first week of June, but our schedules prevented that. Due to a lousy snow year in the Sierras the snowfield was more burned out than usual, so we had to hike through the trees for an hour.
Starting to run out of snow at about 8,100’.
A nice aspect of the Wintun-Hotlum route is that you can see the entire route once you get above treeline. The Wintun-Hotlum snowfield is directly above Rich and Nancy, the Wintun Glacier is to the left and the Hotlum Glacier is to the right.
The Hotlum is rarely skied due to crevasses and seracs, but the Wintun is largely free of glacial features until you reach its terminus.
Looking for another gully with snow.
Our first gully ran dry after a couple of patches of snow, so we had to hike over a moraine to find a gully with a continuous ribbon of snow to skin on.
Skinning is more efficient than hiking, it’s easier on the feet, and it’s nice to get the weight of the skis of your pack.
Rich starting the grind up the Wintun-Hotlum snowfield.
The suncups weren’t bad at first, but as soon as the snowfield got some pitch the suncups became sun craters.
Nancy at about 8,500’.
I’ve been on this route about seven or eight times, and I’ve never seen it so burned out this early in the summer. The thin conditions scared a lot of people away; normally there’s a crowd here during the solstice, this year we only saw two other people on this route.
Rich strikes a pose at about 9,500’.
Clouds and a chilly wind appeared briefly, but otherwise is was sunny and warm, ideal weather for the skin up.
Nancy kicking butt.
This was Nancy’s first trip to Mt. Shasta, and she had a lot of apprehension about the climb. A LOT. I kept telling her how technically easy it is and that she would have no problem getting up to camp, but she was still surprised at how well she did.
Enjoying the sun (and getting the packs off) at our campsite.
We set a mellow pace and took about five hours to get up to our campsite. We used the same spot that Rich, Rob and I used last year, underneath some large rocks in a moraine at 10,200 feet.
This was the first time I’d started early enough to reach camp while the sun was still up. Boy, is that nice! You can sit in the sun and eat and enjoy the view, instead of scarfing something down by headlamp and immediately jumping in your sleeping bag.
Rich gets settled in. Notice the drying undies—hillbillies on Shasta.
Coaxing Nancy to come along motivated me to think more about saving weight, especially taking weight off of her pack. In the past, we’d always carried all our water, about five or six quarts, for the entire climb. That’s about eleven or twelve pounds of water.
This year I brought a WhisperLite stove and a water purifier, figuring that the stove, fuel, pot and purifier combined weigh as much as a quart and a half of water. This way, we could melt snow for water and never have to carry more than two or three quarts at a time, reducing each person’s load by six to eight pounds.
Rich and Nancy view Shasta’s shadow as the sun goes down.
Rich and I melted about two gallons of water, enough to refill our bladders with plenty left over for Rob and Dave when they showed up.
Nancy looks toward Oregon, surprised it isn’t raining.
We turned in early, with the weather completely calm—no clouds, no wind. Rob and Dave hadn’t shown up yet, and we weren’t completely sure they would, and we couldn’t reach them because there was no cell reception.
We didn’t bring a tent because it’s just extra weight and summer camping is mellow. Right? Right?
What the hell just happened? Shaking out and warming up after a very rough night.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. Rob and Dave showed up around 10:00 last night, and brought the wind with them. Within an hour, the wind went from dead calm to howling. Since we were sleeping out in the open, the wind pushed us around all night. I could feel it blowing through my bag, and every time I stuck my head out I got my eyes and mouth full of grit.
At one point I felt a thump on top of me—the wind had picked up one of my skis from a nearby rock and dropped it on me.
Rich was underdressed and became seriously scared about hypothermia. He was about to chuck it and head down the hill until—somehow—he got some core warmth back.
Nancy recuperates in the sunrise.
The wind kept screaming until about 4:00 in the morning and then gradually let off. I finally dozed off for maybe a half-hour, but Nancy didn’t get any sleep.
After getting beat up all night and sleeping only an hour and a half the night before, she felt like a zombie and was in no condition to try for the summit. She said her feet didn’t feel quite connected to her body.
Ready to start cramponing up the Wintun-Hotlum snowfield.
We originally planned for a 4:30 start for Nancy’s benefit, but that idea got blown away and I didn’t poke my head out of my bag until sunrise. I wasn’t quite sure what we’d do or how high we’d get or if anyone felt like doing anything.
Dave faced similar circumstances last year at Helen Lake, with the added frisson of flying ice pellets in his face. The wind never let up and he and Greg got sent home early. He thought today would be the same, so he was thrilled that it calmed down and going up was still possible.
Rich was just glad to be alive.
Rich at about 10,700’, with Mt. McLoughlin far in the distance.
After shaking the dirt out, getting some food down and hitting the target, we decided to start up and see how high we felt like going. We began hiking at a quarter to eight. Nancy went back to bed.
The weather was back to calm and sunny, and I felt surprisingly good despite my tweaky back and the miserable night.
Rob approaching our first rest spot at about 11,500’.
We started up the Wintun-Hotlum snowfield, and then cut over to the Wintun Glacier after about a thousand feet.
The usual route is up the snowfield next to the left-hand moraine and then traversing left onto the glacier at about 12,500’. However, I wanted to avoid any rockfall—especially with our late start—so we decided to cut left early and hike up the middle of the glacier.
Dave takes a break, with the Wintun glacier in the background.
Dave set the pace, as usual. He did what he always does, apologize for being so slow and then dusting us. I think the faux apology is just to rub it in.
He stopped in the moraine at about 11,700’ for our first rest stop.
Rich at our first rest spot.
We saw two climbers hiking and skinning ahead of us yesterday and they camped a thousand feet above our site. They started this morning well above us but got slower and slower as the day went on.
Normally, there’s a boot trail going up the snowfield. The thin conditions have kept people away, and as a result there was no trail to be seen.
Dave on the Wintun Glacier at about 12,000’.
Clouds moved in while we were on the glacier and a cool breeze picked up. The temperature was ideal for hiking, cool enough to keep from sweating, but not so cold that we had to layer up whenever we stopped.
Rich and Rob following Dave’s lead.
The nice thing about the Wintun route is that you can see the whole thing while you’re on it. That’s also the bad thing about it. With the foreshortening of perspective, every goal up ahead seems close enough to hit with a snowball, yet takes forever to reach.
Rob at our second rest spot, a patch of rocks in the middle of the glacier at about 12,700’.
We aimed for a rock spine in the middle of the glacier. From our first rest spot it didn’t seem very far, but every time it appeared in a break in the clouds it didn’t look any closer.
Nice view, eh?
Last year, Rich learned the hard way that you have to pace yourself and control your breathing at altitude. He felt fine up to about 12,500’, but then overexerted himself and became badly nauseated.
This time he focused on deep breathing, setting a rhythm and keeping the yack bubbles down and felt much, much better.
Bret, Rob and Dave at our last rest spot.
We kept zig-zagging up the glacier next to the rock spine, and took our third and last rest on top of the spine at 13,400’.
Dave, Rich, Bret and Rob on the summit.
The final pitch to the summit had the worst snow, a mixture of sastrugi, runnels and wet-slide rubble that had crusted over in the cool wind. It was obvious that the ski down would not be fun.
It took us about six hours to make the summit. We set a fairly conservative pace and got up top feeling in good shape. The summit elevation is 14,179’.
Dave, Bret and Rich on the summit.
Last year, we summited on a ridiculously warm day with no wind. This year was more typical, breezy and cool.
After the hellacious night, I was surprised and happy to summit. I left some old Squaw Bucks in the register for my buddy Andy “Scheissty Boy” Pertzborn, and Rich and Rob chatted with some other summiters.
Dave chillin’ (or not) out of the wind.
A couple of guys came up the Clear Creek route, which is the next route south of us. It took them twelve hours to climb up and they also got no sleep last night. However, climbers coming up the southern route up Avalanche Gulch said there was no wind at Helen Lake. Go figure.
Dave finding softer snow at about 13,000’ on the Wintun Glacier.
We spent about twenty minutes on the summit, and then girded our loins for the first pitch. The entire summit pitch was horrible skiing, a series of jump turns and traverses and more jump turns, with a few butt-checks thrown in.
Not fun on telemark gear. Linked turns were out of the question.
Rob finding something he can turn in.
It stayed crusty until about 13,200’, and then the skiing got better and better.
Rich? Stein? Hard to tell.
We kept veering left, working toward the moraine to get smoother snow. The skiing there was excellent, nice smooth corn.
Skiing on the Wintun Glacier.
The climbers who began the day well ahead of us were just starting up the summit pitch when we headed down. I got the feeling that the altitude was kicking them hard.
Rob feeling good at 12,000’.
I’m very glad we live at 6,000 feet and regularly hike and mountain bike above that. It helps so much on Shasta. Every year I see other people who come from lower elevations, and they suffer for it.
Rich getting some.
I loaned Rich a pair of Pocket Rockets with Freeride bindings that I scored a couple of months ago. He said they were… different. It took him a few turns to adapt to their soft flex.
Woo-hooooooo!!!
Dave was apprehensive about skiing Shasta, since he hadn’t skied all year. He’s climbed Shasta before, but this was his first time on the east side and he was stoked by the great ski lines of the Wintun.
Rob traverses out at 10,500’.
The skiing was excellent from about 13,000’ all the way back to camp. The clouds cleared just before we started down, so Nancy could watch us the whole way. She was bummed, of course, that she didn’t get up higher, but big mountains are arbitrary that way.
The day was getting old, so we packed up fast and started hacking our way down the suncups and sun craters.
Following the last ribbon of snow, the summit 6,000’ above.
We followed a snaking gully of snow down to just below 8,000’, and then hiked about a mile to the left back to the trailhead.
Hopefully, we can make it back here next year, come earlier in June with a better snowpack, and ski all the way back to the car. I still want to see Nancy on the summit, and she still wonders if she can do it.
