Mount
Baker -10781 Feet: Coleman Headwall, Western Lobe
June
18, 2010

Wall
Street predictions predicted nine out of the last five recessions.
~Paul
A. Samuelson
PHOTOS
AND STORY by Jason Hummel
Volcanoes
have an appeal
that even sharp peaks in the North Cascades can’t equal. They
are massive! From their steep faces and crumbling icefalls, cracked
glaciers and sloughing moraines to their encroaching forests, glassy
lakes and gorging rivers, their grandeur is far-reaching. On Interstate
5 driving or on the back roads of Washington, you can see their
snowcapped facades shimmering under beams of sun or moon.
There
was no seeing any mountain at first. Above my house in Tacoma, the
clouds dominated the sky, but as I passed Seattle, breaks began
to appear. I guess the forecasted "mostly cloudy with a chance
of rain" really meant "mostly sunny." Or so it was
in my early-morning day dreams. In them even the mountains maintained
these lowland clearings. And as I reached the town of Glacier, a
skip and a hop from the mountain, I pulled over to wait for the
Traslin brothers. There, while killing time, I ogle-eyed the mountain
through the sucker holes of blue, which battled swirling fog. “OMG,
it’s going to be sunny!” Analogous to a crumb-covered
little boy with his hand in the cookie jar, my face was an expression
of uncontained joy. Any attempt to wipe it from my lips, just meant
another cookie (or look) was necessary.

Mount
Baker is a standby for ski mountaineers. It retains quality snow
and skiing longer than its bigger sibling, Mount Rainier, at least
from summit to glacier toe. Take one late August as case in point.
With friends we schussed our way from the Park Headwall all the
way down the Boulder-Park Cleaver before we ran out of snow! That
was 5000 feet of skiing - in summer! To this day, besides the headwall
of course, the Boulder-Park Cleaver is one of the most classic,
moderate lines in the Cascades. But for ease of access, the Coleman
Deming is hard to beat and that is why the Traslin Brothers and
I chose to climb this route.
After
meeting, we drove to trail #677. In a short time, with skis, boots,
poles and gear we set off at 9a.m. through fog-entombed forest.
Glorious skies loomed overhead. They brought on an abundance of
good feelings - we were stoked, but those feelings were quickly
being swamped by mist and cloud. Our only hope was that we would
climb above them. For luck is often a matter of persistence, as
not two miles later, the mountain smiled at us from between those
buoyant, frothy waves of whiteness. There was a feast of smiles,
grins, hollers and laughter being set on our faces as we clamored
out of our shoes and into our ski boots; it was time to climb and
we were lovin’ life!


Given a late start and weather’s
poor outlook, we weren't pressing for the summit. Yet failure to
grasp opportunity at hand is a fool’s knife into the gut of
it. Velvet snow and warming temperatures practically levitated bodies
and hopes up the mountain! At one point, a climber coming down from
the summit hails us and comments, "You guys are sure moving!"
The Traslin brothers are fast. From a lifetime of competitive racing,
pain and suffering is hard wired into them.


Those
big, puffy clouds now lingered below us. I fully expected them to
press in on the mountain and stack up, but as the day progressed,
they didn't threaten us further. Sights of the Twin Sisters Range
again reminded me that I must visit them, and soon. But my gawking
at the sights was cut short by my need to get to the top. It's twelve
miles and 7100 feet to the summit of Mount Baker and back. Besides
a few slowdowns for water, we hardly paused. With a spring season
whose weather has been less than appealing, a nice day was something
to celebrate. If you could've seen my smile and star-crazed eyes,
you would've recognized a man infected by this day’s spectacular
showing. At 10,781 feet, the top held hardly a wisp of wind and
yet, before descending, my hands were shaking from a mix of fear
and excitement. That is good. If I wasn't apprehensive before skiing
a route like this, then I’ve been skiing steeps for far too
long and probably shouldn't anymore.
While
the Traslin brothers went to the true summit, I decided to wait
on the plateau. What concerned me was the Coleman Headwall and its
2000 feet of 40-50 degree snow. During my previous and only descent
of the route in 2007, I skied the Eastern Lobe with Phil Fortier.
What excited me most for this trip were potentially prime conditions
on the Western Lobe. As the brothers arrived back from their summit
bids, I pressed forward. Skiing onto the face from the flat expanse
of the mountains icecap to the steeper north side has an affect
on me that I never tire of. The feeling is akin to peering from
the edge of a tall building to city streets far below. And I love
that wild, impractical foolishness of putting oneself under risk’s
wheels for-no-particularly-good-reason, of my edges gripping the
slope for all they're worth and of my heart in my mouth trying to
beat some sort of sense into that thick head of mine.


Mike, on the other hand,
felt too much was against us (no rope or crevasse gear). I can't
blame him. There's an indefinite amount of risk you take in skiing
steep routes, and our plan puts us right between the cross hairs
of rock and ice cliffs, which add even further danger. And yet,
his brother Andy is young and unwise like me. While apprehensive,
he was still willing to leap into the firing range. Mike donned
crampons and climbed back out. He would descend the Coleman Deming
route and we'd meet him at the bottom. It is good to know one’s
limits; I always respect people who don’t let bravado push
them into situations they aren't comfortable with for whatever reasons.
With
careful negotiation, Andy and I cautiously picked our way down the
face. During my breaks, I would look up or down and watch Andy turn.
With steep skiing there is a freedom of being unrestrained, unhooked
from the flat plane of Earth and tilted on an icy slope to be sent
sliding downward. Unresolved as you are with gravity, perched in
its realm, it is quite thrilling to find yourself once again on
level ground, knowing you had navigated terrain challenging enough
to test your solidarity and cohesion with the mountain environment.
As a photographer I find it especially thrilling to be cast into
the center of this excitement, right in the action. It is difficult
to keep my feet under me when I am so overwhelmed by the sights.
Once the camera is away, all bets are off because it is time to
descend and that’s why my heart beats and lungs breathe.






We wound our way to the far
extremities of the headwall to bypass an icefall on harder snow
that was less likely to slough away under our feet. It was nearly
icier than we had hoped for, but after a few turns it softened.
To our left, the face opened up even further. Five hundred feet
below was a double set of bergschrunds, so we continued along a
leftward traverse. Because the westerly-most face receives less
sun, we had amazing turns all the way to those bergschrunds. A jump
and traverse and we were free from the face and skiing outward to
a point we could take in the entire route. It was a beauty!
While zigzagging my way through
deep crevasses on the Coleman Glacier, I realized how much I adore
Mount Baker. It is one of my favorite volcanoes. Not only because
it has everything a skier and photographer would want - steep lines,
big glaciers, encroaching forests, roaring rivers and placid lakes,
but because it has a personality, an aged wisdom about her.














Gazing
back to the snow and my ski tips, I kept mulling over my reasons
for being here, even after Andy and I reconnected with Mike far
down on the glacier. And even beyond to the hike through the forest
to the cars and to Interstate 5 on my way home. Hours later, over
my shoulder from my driver’s seat, I couldn’t help but
steal glances of the moonlit- graced slopes of Mount Baker. Looking
away, I realized that volcanoes can be as exhilarating as the rock-studded
peaks of the North Cascades. I think you just have to get closer
to their wrinkled, crumbing, and shadowed faces to really experience
them for what they are as we did on the Coleman Headwall.
If
you like my photography or writing, please see my photography/contact
page for prints and/or licensing.
Sincerely,
Jason Hummel

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