June 1, 2002, Sahale Mountain
6/1/02
WA Cascades East Slopes North
2779
0
Sahale is one of the premier, daytrip-accessible viewpoints in the North Cascades, with views to the wildest mountain scenery I've seen in the lower forty-eight and a worthy ski tour whenever the Cascade River Road is open, the snow reasonably stable and the weather reliably good. There are a few drawbacks, of course: the 6500 ft. climb, for one, and the approach walk along the gated portion of the road, which together insure a long day. Last year I skied Sahale and Mt. St. Helens on successive days; this year, markedly older and more decrepit, I have turned the page on such foolishness.
Within a couple of hours of making arrangements for the trip, I was hit with a sudden sledgehammer of a cold. Ah, misery. Three of us drove from Bellingham the night before, sleeping in the otherwise-deserted Mineral King campground. Another member of the party-one of those irritatingly upbeat early risers-drove out at some ungodly early hour of the morning, barely able to restrain his impatience as we stumbled blindly around shuffling gear and stuffing down various breakfasts. A fifth met us at the gate on the roadway, pickup truck impressively stuffed with climbing, skiing and biking gear. I guzzled coffee and sat hunched, blathering incoherently to myself, sniffling and coughing, until we got underway.
The Cascade River Road remains gated at Eldorado Creek, an elevation of 2200 feet and a good three or four miles from the trailhead. The first mile or two is in good shape, with an occasional blowdown or bit of avalanche debris waiting for the appropriate public servants to do their thing. After the next gate-the usual closure this time of year-things deteriorated rapidly, with great swathes of mowed-down forest heaped high across the roadway and down into the valley. Soldier Boy Creek was particularly impressive, featuring a quarter mile scramble over giant piles of downed trees mixed with rock and snow. The skiing will be long gone before the park service opens the road to the trailhead this summer.
We began skinning in the usual place, at 3400 feet just before the road's end, and made steady progress up onto Sahale Arm. Actually, the progress made by some of us was noticeably steadier than that made by others; I fell even further behind than normal, feeling unsteady and weak and having to stop at frequent intervals to dose myself with some sort of magical pharmacological concoction (entirely legal) which I'd brought along. At around 6000 feet we ran into a friend-another one of those early riser types-who'd set out before us, and was eschewing the summit in favor of skiing a couple of shorter laps before the snow softened too much. At 7000 feet two of our party opted to sit on a rock outcrop in the sun rather than continue climbing, but I have never acquired the requisite skills for sitting around in the sun, and so I continued on. At this point I timed myself at a half-hour behind the first two, who were clearly visible above, climbing over the mounded terminal moraine of Sahale Glacier.
In the end, I stopped just below the summit rocks in increasingly rotten wet snow with slabby patches settling alarmingly every so often under my skis. The two ahead of me made motions at scrambling the summit pyramid, then skied down. The first thousand feet or so was fairly abysmal skiing-deep, soft, gluey, sloppy and wet-though the setting was truly spectacular, with a 180 degree panorama of sharp peaks and glaciers spread out in front of our ski tips to the horizons. After that first bit the skiing was much improved, with big open slopes of past-prime-but-perfectly-serviceable corn running thousands of feet down the Arm, then into the big bowl below Cascade Pass, across an endless sea of avalanche debris and back to the road. I was, of course, thoroughly thrashed, and kept up mumbled commentary to this effect between gasping helplessly for breath, but another of those magical pills and a handful of ibuprofens seemed to help. Three of us skied the valley down to 2800 feet, a run of almost 6000 vertical feet, before taking our skis off and clambering up to the road again. Several of the party claimed to be pleasantly, but not unduly, tired; I myself had by this time been reduced to quivering and whimpering wordlessly.
There were fewer slides coming off the surrounding peaks than I've ever seen before on a warm spring day, and little real instability in the snowpack we skied, though large amounts of snow remain in precarious locations on most aspects. As mentioned, there is rotten snow and wet slab up high, though even my own 215 lbs. did not yield releases on ski cuts or crashing falls. Along Sahale Arm, shallow pockets of snow on the ridge and around rocks were also rotten. Lower down, wet snow sluffed predictably in the top few inches of the pack, but was well consolidated otherwise.
The distance returning down the road to the Eldorado Creek parking lot was, at minimum, twice as long as it had been that very morning, and each of us had been ticketed for not displaying the appropriate Forest Service parking permit. Notwithstanding the apparent availability of Forest Service personnel to stuff tickets under wiper blades, the brand new outhouse (presumably purchased at great expense with permit fees) was so full of liquid as to represent a real danger in normal use. The roadway remains gated low, to no apparent purpose.
Enjoy.
Mark
Within a couple of hours of making arrangements for the trip, I was hit with a sudden sledgehammer of a cold. Ah, misery. Three of us drove from Bellingham the night before, sleeping in the otherwise-deserted Mineral King campground. Another member of the party-one of those irritatingly upbeat early risers-drove out at some ungodly early hour of the morning, barely able to restrain his impatience as we stumbled blindly around shuffling gear and stuffing down various breakfasts. A fifth met us at the gate on the roadway, pickup truck impressively stuffed with climbing, skiing and biking gear. I guzzled coffee and sat hunched, blathering incoherently to myself, sniffling and coughing, until we got underway.
The Cascade River Road remains gated at Eldorado Creek, an elevation of 2200 feet and a good three or four miles from the trailhead. The first mile or two is in good shape, with an occasional blowdown or bit of avalanche debris waiting for the appropriate public servants to do their thing. After the next gate-the usual closure this time of year-things deteriorated rapidly, with great swathes of mowed-down forest heaped high across the roadway and down into the valley. Soldier Boy Creek was particularly impressive, featuring a quarter mile scramble over giant piles of downed trees mixed with rock and snow. The skiing will be long gone before the park service opens the road to the trailhead this summer.
We began skinning in the usual place, at 3400 feet just before the road's end, and made steady progress up onto Sahale Arm. Actually, the progress made by some of us was noticeably steadier than that made by others; I fell even further behind than normal, feeling unsteady and weak and having to stop at frequent intervals to dose myself with some sort of magical pharmacological concoction (entirely legal) which I'd brought along. At around 6000 feet we ran into a friend-another one of those early riser types-who'd set out before us, and was eschewing the summit in favor of skiing a couple of shorter laps before the snow softened too much. At 7000 feet two of our party opted to sit on a rock outcrop in the sun rather than continue climbing, but I have never acquired the requisite skills for sitting around in the sun, and so I continued on. At this point I timed myself at a half-hour behind the first two, who were clearly visible above, climbing over the mounded terminal moraine of Sahale Glacier.
In the end, I stopped just below the summit rocks in increasingly rotten wet snow with slabby patches settling alarmingly every so often under my skis. The two ahead of me made motions at scrambling the summit pyramid, then skied down. The first thousand feet or so was fairly abysmal skiing-deep, soft, gluey, sloppy and wet-though the setting was truly spectacular, with a 180 degree panorama of sharp peaks and glaciers spread out in front of our ski tips to the horizons. After that first bit the skiing was much improved, with big open slopes of past-prime-but-perfectly-serviceable corn running thousands of feet down the Arm, then into the big bowl below Cascade Pass, across an endless sea of avalanche debris and back to the road. I was, of course, thoroughly thrashed, and kept up mumbled commentary to this effect between gasping helplessly for breath, but another of those magical pills and a handful of ibuprofens seemed to help. Three of us skied the valley down to 2800 feet, a run of almost 6000 vertical feet, before taking our skis off and clambering up to the road again. Several of the party claimed to be pleasantly, but not unduly, tired; I myself had by this time been reduced to quivering and whimpering wordlessly.
There were fewer slides coming off the surrounding peaks than I've ever seen before on a warm spring day, and little real instability in the snowpack we skied, though large amounts of snow remain in precarious locations on most aspects. As mentioned, there is rotten snow and wet slab up high, though even my own 215 lbs. did not yield releases on ski cuts or crashing falls. Along Sahale Arm, shallow pockets of snow on the ridge and around rocks were also rotten. Lower down, wet snow sluffed predictably in the top few inches of the pack, but was well consolidated otherwise.
The distance returning down the road to the Eldorado Creek parking lot was, at minimum, twice as long as it had been that very morning, and each of us had been ticketed for not displaying the appropriate Forest Service parking permit. Notwithstanding the apparent availability of Forest Service personnel to stuff tickets under wiper blades, the brand new outhouse (presumably purchased at great expense with permit fees) was so full of liquid as to represent a real danger in normal use. The roadway remains gated low, to no apparent purpose.
Enjoy.
Mark
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