Hot on the heels of a spring full of hard-ish gym climbing and IPA fueled mountain daydreaming, Eric and I were itching hard to get out into the mountains and onto alpine rock. With a goal to climb Mt. Rainier this season, we settled on a kick-off trip to Washington Pass. Intent on climbing Silver Star Mountain to get some snow and glacier experience before Rainier, we would bivy at Burgundy Col and spend the following day climbing Rebel Yell on Chianti Spire.
We chose our dates at the end of May and watched the weather religiously, checking in on the forecast every few hours for the entire week leading up to the trip. As the time got closer, the weather window became smaller and smaller. Eric and I talked on the phone several times in the days preceding our trip with me failing to convince him to pivot to an objective with a more optimistic forecast. The stoke was high and with both of us fixated on Chianti Spire, we made the rookie mistake of letting our ego get in the way and fuel a bit of summit fever; disregarding the sheepishly smaller weather window that we had going for us.
Eric and I rolled into the pullout below Silver Star and the connected spires with a couple hours of daylight left. Heavy, wet clouds shifted just enough to offer tantalizing views of the alpine towers, singing their sirens song and beckoning us further into our commitment. We sorted out our gear and sent a request on my InReach for a weather forecast for the following morning. Wet weather through the night promised to give way to a slightly cloudy morning followed by afternoon sunshine continuing into the following day. It's a shame the mountains don't play by the rules of man.
A 5am wakeup to relentless downpour kept the mood solemn. Eric and I ate a light breakfast in our sleeping bags in the back of his Outback while we contemplated a new plan. After some wavering we finally settled on bailing on our rock objective and trying to salvage the trip with what was sure to be a very wet attempt on Silver Star Mountain. After ditching our bivy gear and donning hardshell's we set off to begin the slog up the 3500 feet to Burgundy Col. Shortly after we made the Bench Camp, completely soaked through our rain layers (those lasted about 10 minutes in the notorious Cascade rains), Eric petitioned to bail entirely and retreat back to the dry clothes waiting for us at the car. Much to his chagrin, Eric was greeted with a slightly masochistic grin from me as I vetoed his request. I had found comfort within our little pain cave, embracing the suck of the weather and hungry to get to higher elevation.
Bench Camp gave way to a steep gully up to Burgundy Col and rain turned to sleet and eventually snow as we kicked up the faded boot pack. Halfway up, we stopped to put on heavier gloves and pull out our ice axes, reminding us of our inexperience on snowy, wet terrain. In the top sections of the gully with the terrain growing steeper and each step sinking me up to my thighs in the new snow, I could feel the summit of Silver Star growing further from our reach.
After finally making it to Burgundy Col and stuffing some calories in our faces, the reality of our situation was growing ever clear. High winds and a steep descent off the back side of the Col provided a reality check. Time to face the music and embrace the death of our alpine dreams. 6-8 inches of new, wet snow offered the final nail in the coffin of our retreat: while neither Eric or myself have much experience with avalanche training or reading snowpacks, I knew enough from my own studying that things were quickly becoming less than ideal.
As we descended through pinwheeling snow with heavy, wet top layers sliding underfoot, Eric and I decided to capitalize on our positions and get some practice moving a bit quicker down some of the less than ideal sections of our descent. A couple of simul-rappels and some glissading on the lower, safer sections of the gully got us back to bench camp quickly and without issue. Our new position offered views of the adjacent gullies and the fresh avalanches that had come down in them—solid validation of our decision to bail and come back another day.
The rain finally let up as we descended back to the car on wet dirt and we ended the trip ever hungrier for a successful objective, ready for a retribution climb and some sunny days on alpine rock. We spent the drive home in a fashion that has become standard for us: debrief the climb, talk about what worked, what didn't, how we could communicate better, if we made any mistakes or took unnecessary risks, and decide what we wanted to do next.
Every foray into the mountains yields valuable lessons, and through my experiences in climbing over the last 5 years I've come to know more and more about myself, my preferred style and my own mountain ethos. The summit is not the be-all-end-all. I've seen a shift in myself, more-so as of late, in recognizing the beauty of the process. Climbing for me has grown into a medium that is much less about the summit and more about the journey to it, filled with vulnerability, human connection, and personal growth. This idea brings a different light to the idea of success in the mountains and coming out of this trip I feel confident and excited about coming season and trips—all sure to be full of their own unique offerings and lessons.
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