DAY FIVE: Dome Col to Agnes Creek (between slide alder paths)

Morning drizzle had continued unabated until we figured it was nice enough to go. To the east there appeared to be hope, but further west was not promoting a desire to stay. It wilted and withered away when, without much said, we packed up and skied to the edge of the Chickamin Glacier and dropped off toward Gunsight Peak. With so many days of food remaining, it was sad. So much effort to carry it all and now I had to go. Damn. I knew it could happen either way. Better to try than to live every day wishing you had. I’m sure one day I’ll be back.

The ski began with a few very large crevasses that spanned nearly the entire slope. We managed to skirt our way left of one and continued down and by many in a downward-right traverse. The clouds had broken up and as if to spite me, actually broke out the sun many times over the course of the next few hours. The play of shadow and light was fantastic. I had been to this area to ski Sinister Peak’s North Face with Carl and Lowell Skoog, John Mauro and my brother, Josh. We had just escaped a thunder and lightening storm then on my way back over Dome Col. We luckily managed to ski Sinister and get back down to camp. That time I was also chased back out with several days of supplies. The glacier wasn’t as broken up and could be a challenge later in the year.

We were unsure exactly which was the correct pass over Gunsight to the Blue Glacier. I can’t imagine many people have ventured to this place? Josh was climbing to one on the right and I yelled at him to go to the left one. It looked better. It turns out, we made the proper choice. This was a great relief. Skiing down from the pass was amazing. The Blue Glacier is a crazy place lost among the multiple valleys that guard it. There is no easy way here, especially when snows dominate these high places. We traversed to the far left to see if the ridgeline would go. There appeared to be cornices and other nastiness that we weren’t interested in. Maybe a closer look was warranted? Had I known what was to come, I would’ve spent much longer exploring. Another climber had told me of an alternate route which climbs up the ridge above the lake. He had taken this and had told me it was very nice. Looking far down the valley, the hanging cliffs below the blue sharpened outline of the appropriately named Blue Lake, it appeared feasible to go down the valley. I’m unaware of anyone going this way before. In Tom Miller’s book, THE NORTH CASCADES, there is a photo of them at Blue Lake in the 1950’s. I tend to think from other photos in the selection that they came along the Hanging Gardens, a route that continues traversing around a few more cirques toward Holden Village. This is the same route that Skoog and party skied several years ago, probably the first and only ones to do so. As far as I know, no one had ever skied to Blue Lake and skiing above it was amazing. In the mountains you often have the feeling that you are in a special place. I had that feeling here.

Below the lake are many cliffs. We traversed far to the south to see if there was a way down. Any route we took was committing and could easily cliff out. The skiing was turn after turn of sweet corn snow. I dropped in and kept going until I was very far below the others, far out of sight. Every roll was intimidating but the route went easily and there was just enough snow to cover the raging streams. With a short carry I put my skis on again and skied down to a point above a waterfall, so I could look back up. With copious amounts of staring for several minutes, I spotted Josh and Jessy above a big cliff, next to a narrow, steep chute. They had picked a wise route and with direction from me they finished their descent and skied over to where I was waiting.

From there on was skiing next to a raging creek. What looked to be easy turned out not to be. With crampons and whippets we climbed down the shore on rock covered in mud and the occasional plant life clinging to existence in such a tenuous place. With helpful branch belays and careful work, we arrived at more snow which we walked down to yet another bluff. After drinking as much as we could and Josh scouting far down the right hand side, we were set on going left, even when he felt the right was better. But we were worried about crossing the creek, so right it was. Lots of steep down climbing and slippery bushes were climbed down. Battles with bush and tree, rock and water were played over and over until we were relieved to be at the valley bottom. How happy we were. If we’d only known how badly it would be for us.

The map showed several miles of reasonably flat ground which was thanked for. But all that green we saw became more defined. More slide alder than I’d ever seen in all my days was there, verdant old growth forests of slide alder. Send me to hell; it’d be a better place than this!!! Hours passed. Every foot was a conquest. No mountain had ever challenged me as this place was. There was no ground. I didn’t know where it was, I lost it hours ago. At one point I felt like a monkey in a spider web. A mammoth spider like you’d see in a Disney cartoon or a horror movie. It had me in its grips. I joked to my brother that maybe we’d end up stuck here for the night, that they’d find our dead bodies (yeah right, who would come here?), skeletons perhaps attached to these packs with skis caught in the branches, ski poles caught in the branches, foot caught in the branches, hair (!) caught in the branches and this scream immortalized on our faces with branches in caught in our teeth!!! The funny part was, I wasn’t really joking.

We did find some comparably easy terrain in the trees. Each time we would hope it was the end, but our island in the ocean of terror was just that. Escape necessitated more evil to overcome. I think my mind was discombobulated and thusly removed from my body. It would be floating above looking down at me, pondering my dilemma. At one point, trees 30-40-50-60 plus feet round were passed, some even bigger??? It was hard to tell. I’d seen the biggest Western Red Cedar in the world on the Olympic Coast of Washington. One tree I’d swear could be compared to it! I was in such misery I didn’t bother to photo. It was so surrounded by slide alder; you couldn’t even walk around it. I clung to the side, hoping to see beyond the waves of green. It was like a buoy.

Darkness was nearing and the going hadn’t gotten easier. It appeared easier to follow another’s path, but I had lost Josh’s. He was a hundred feet away but I couldn’t see him. Jessy was behind me. We had taken turns pushing through the branches, our backs straining to keep the weight from tearing us from our perch and casting us as near to the ground as the branches would allow. Many times I’d hear the thump of someone falling, but no yells of misery. They didn’t help anymore. We were beyond that.

It was dark now. We had escaped the branches and found a place to camp that was flat enough for our liking. A hill with any dirt at all would’ve been thanked for! We passed out and I dreamed of big spiders and webs.

DAY SIX: Agnes Creek to Stehekin

We planned to wake up early. In our optimism we thought we could find our way from this place, across the river and down to the trailhead in time to catch the bus.

Once camp was broke we continued downstream. We needed to keep close so as to see Agnes Creek come in from the right. After a time and surprisingly easy going (for the most part), we saw the creek come in but no logs. We continued downstream in search of any that would work. It was a time before we found one, but we thought it would be wise to find a better one. We continued on and on and on, but nothing. Not a damn thing. As a whitewater boater for many years, I know the power of water and what I can get away with. This river was not something to mess around with. I’ve had many very terrible swims, but without the proper gear and the speed of this river, it would be hard to get to shore. In fact, I doubted I could at all if I were to fall in. Once we reached a wall of slide alder, there was a chorus of horror. We new we had to go back, which wouldn’t be a joy at all. We needed to cross that single log we saw. There was no way we could manage the slide alder we saw ahead. It was a ways back and when we got there, we pulled out the rope and harnesses, dropped our packs and set up a safety line. It took several carries, but in the end I untied the rope and they belayed me back across. It is better to not stare down at your feet and the rushing current. Its speed throws your equilibrium off and makes your head spin.

On the other side we had one stroke of luck. The trail was right there, just 100-ft away. Now it was only a matter of time, right? I think not.

The trail was great; with an occasional log every eighth of a mile or so. This was child’s play by our retooled reckoning of things. We pounded out all 9 miles or more of trail with one very rushed (maybe a minute) break to look at the map. A few creek crossing were slightly challenging but only cause of big packs. In the end Josh had gotten far ahead of Jessy and I. It was quite an effort to keep moving when our feet hurt so much from all the pounding. They were sore and getting sorer by the mile. There is a massive canyon to our left where Agnes Creek continues down. It is an amazing sight. Jessy and I hurried because we were sure the bus would be there soon. If we missed it we would be spending the night because we needed to catch the boat which only went once a day to Chelan. After numerous switchbacks, we came up Josh who had an expression that explained it all. He pointed to the sign in front of him. On it was a nice note stapled to a signpost. Its message was so very comical, I could hardly believe it. Were my eyes lying to me or was someone playing a joke.

“The bridge is out for the season, bushwack 5 miles along the shore; expect to take a full day.”

DAY SEVEN: Stehekin to Chelan and finally home

We spent the next day in Stehekin and very much enjoyed the rest and relaxation. It was like a vacation after a vacation. We ate out every meal and had pie and cinnamon rolls. I’m sure many wondered who these guys were who walked funny. Our feet hurt so bad, the best way to get around was to waddle. In fact we even took the carts to pull our packs around town.

From our vantage at a nice spot of grass next to the water, we could see the dark clouds massing over the mountains. I didn’t feel so bad about leaving early then. In fact I knew it was best since poor enough weather can keep you locked up in a tent for many days. That is never fun. Reaching for a cold drink and soaking my feet in the waters of Lake Chelan, BOY that was much preferred!  

Later, as the waters of the lake passed underneath me and the landscape changed to the dry and arid forests prevalent there, I had forgotten the schwacking. In fact all the difficult parts took a backseat to all the memorable adventuring we had undergone. It was so special to have had my brothers there to enjoy such a trip. It is the hard things in life that reward you the most, is it not? They define the good things more clearly in your head. And from the ski descents and traverses, the lakes and rivers, the sunsets and rises, the glaciers and passes were so many, many memories I will never forget, too hard for me to put into words these 1’s and 0’s in my head. But I know this; the Ptarmigan is truly a place of wild abandon. It is only meant for us to visit. We can never stay. I am happy with that. And if you go there, you will know. If not, I hope this story serves you well.

Thanks for the adventure Jessy and Josh. I couldn’t ask for better brothers.

Sincerely,

Jason Hummel…

PART I - Day 1-2 Summit and ski of Spider Mountains South Face

PART II - Day 3-4 Roasting in the sun and summit of Hop Joch Spitz and Dome

PART III - >>> Day 5-7 Bushwacking hell out the Blue Glacier and Gunsight to Stehekin (you're on this page)