In August 2007 I went to Shasta to solo climb the Hotlum Wintun glacier route. This was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. This is my story.
I park in the lot 50 miles from the main road. It is 7,000 feet elevation. Pine trees tower around me and pine needles lay a soft blanket over the landscape.
There is a small SUV parked near the trail head with two other climbers setting out. A man and woman. They are making breakfast on their stove and their coffee smells great. I stop and they start asking me questions. What route are you taking and did you bring a rope and ice-screws? No I didn’t, why? We heard from a guide coming down that the top is all exposed blue-ice and you will need at least three ice screws. Well I’m climbing solo and wasn’t planning on roping up. I tell them the route I am taking and set off.
I wasn’t to see them again or anyone else until for the next two days.
The approach is nice, but long. About two miles up I pass a large stream. I stop at each hour to drink 500ml of water and eat a small snack. I move fast but curse my my pack which is far too heavy.
It is 10am at 9,000 feet and I stop behind a stubby cold rock and sit in dirt to drink and eat with some shelter. The wind finds me just the same. I am cold when I stop, but I have energy. The day feels great so far.
By 2pm I pass 10,000 feet with no sign of the base camp that is supposed to be there. The snow starts here so I stop to put on crampons and get out my ice-axe.
Grass and dirt and trees fade to rock and loose rock and snow and ice. Colors change. Green and brown are replaced by grey and white. The wind bites into my skin. My “windbreaker” doesn’t seem to be doing much. Passing 10,500 still no base camp. I feel good so I decide to continue climbing and camp on the ridge somewhere up above.
Steep is replaced by steeper and steeper still. Any loose snow that might provide purchase is long blown away, leaving the hard, brittle intense blue ice of the glacier. The sun beats down mercilessly. My windbreaker is soaked through. I feel my skin burning and stop regularly to put on high altitude sunblock. Still my skin feels hot. I take off my sunglasses for a minute and I can’t see much at all.
Here and there an errant gust catches me off balance and I have to act fast to keep from slipping down the steep slope. It plays havoc with my nerves and I slow down. I decide to get off the ice soon and onto the ridge to my left. It looks like there is a flat spot about a thousand feet up, but on arriving, it turns out not to be flat. I begin to worry that I won’t find a suitable bivouac ledge, and climb higher still.
4pm I am desperate and drop my pack to scramble around on the ridge looking for a suitable ledge to sleep on for the night. Eventually, I find a 2 foot wide ledge good enough for a bivouac, but not wide enough for a tent — I will have to climb into my tent and simply roll it around me to block the wind and possible rain. Disheartened, I begin to downclimb back to my tent and something tells me to turn right. I follow my instinct, and just 40 feet to the right I find a somewhat flat bivy ledge with a rock wall to block the wind and large enough to setup my whole tent. A flood of relief washes over me and I am calm again.
By nightfall I have eaten and collected water from some glacier runoff I find close by. I settle down for the night with the base of the valley some 11,000 feet below. I fall asleep easily from exhaustion.
2am? I am awake and it is dark with pin pricks of light from the stars only. No moon. My throat is on fire and I fumble around to find my bottle and take a long pull. Relief! I had never felt such a thirst. 11,000 feet is the highest I’ve ever been, and I must be completely dehydrated. After the pain in my throat subsides I notice that I have an intense headache. I am so tired I simply ignore it and go back to sleep.
Every 30 minutes or so my rasping throat shakes me to life and I drink a few sips then pass out again. Dawn seems to be coming soon so I get going. It is 4:30am.
Packing a small pack for the summit I bring only 2 liters of water a few snacks and a down jacket. I am off onto the ice again. Thankfully this morning there is no wind and only a stillness and quiet that makes the dark inky blackness of the mountain foreboding.
With the warnings of the previous day in mind I plan to climb to the summit but will turn around if it gets too steep and dangerous to continue with no rope.
I move slowly like my legs are filled with lead. It is the altitude and I tell myself it is OK and normal. After 3 hours of steep terrain, I am disheartened to realize I’ve only ascended 1,000 feet. At this rate I won’t summit till 2pm.
I told Steph (my wife) that I’d be off the mountain by 6pm and would call her to tell her I am OK. I decide that I must turn around by 2pm even if I have not hit the summit. Otherwise it will get dark and I will risk getting lost wont be able to call her which would leave her worrying all night.
I climb faster despite the heavyness and quickened breathing. I set goals for each 10 yards. Just keep moving until I get to that rock up ahead then I can rest. Then the next rock, then the next.
Finally I get to 13,000 feet where I know I am supposed to traverse left across the ridge. I have a 2 paragraph description of the route memorized and realize that it is woefully inadequate. It says to look for a pyramid rock and there are at least 10 rocks around that look like pyramids. Seeing no other option, I rely on my altimeter and traverse the ridge.
The rock of the ridge is heinous and unstable. Every 2 feet up I slide 1 foot back. Even the big rocks are loose and I start more than a few mini rock slides. My nerves are completely shot from the loose rock and I finally get to the end of the ridge and back onto ice and thankfully back to some snow!
Putting the crampons back on my fingers get numb from the cold. It is now 11am, I am at 13,000 feet and the summit is nowhere to be seen. The mountain is much bigger than I thought. It is enormous and looks nothing like the small 3×5 black and white photo I studied for months.
Depression dances at the edge of my awareness and I push it back with the idea that I’ll just keep climbing till 2pm then turn around. I start out up a steep chute and have now switched to front-pointing (using the front points of the crampons). It is tiring on my calfs but I press on. Noon comes and goes and the summit is nowhere in sight. An hour later I think I can see the summit. Still I have not crossed the “super steep exposed blue ice” that the other climbers referred to so I continue climbing.
I arrive at the summit headwall and here is the ice. It is steep and scary but I can see the summit just 100 feet above me. I have no rope and I know I should turn around. I don’t. The summit is so close. Emotion wells up. I push it down and attack the final 100 feet.
2:30pm I emerge onto the summit plateau. 14,400 feet! Two climbers appear from the opposite side and ask where is my partner. I have none. They are surprised and look strangely at me.
I spend 5 minutes there eating and drinking then start downclimbing.
Immediately I realize that it is too steep to downclimb and I get scared. There appears to be no choice so I just go down anyway hoping not to slip. A few minutes later, despite my caution, I slip anyway and slide for some distance, maybe 40 feet, but I can’t be sure. I manage to self-arrest with my axe. Adrenaline floods and my heart jumps out of my chest. A few minutes later I get myself under control and realize I’ve just stopped myself from a 7,000 foot fall down the glacier. I realize I have made a mistake by descending here but now it is too late. I must get back to my tent and off the mountain.
I resolve to move slower and more carefully. I try but the steepness is too much and I slip again. This time I catch myself sooner. There is no adrenaline left to shock me so I retain my composure. With excrutiatingly slow motion I continue down until I have passed the steep bits.
The 4 hours that follow were a blur in my mind. Exhausted and dehydrated time seems to speed up. I see the other climbers coming up and stop to talk to them. They are surprised I made it to the top. They turned around at 12,000 feet due to risk. I mumble something about the conditions at the top and move quickly away back to my tent. I finally reach my bivy ledge and pack up the tent with too must haste. I am not thinking straight.
Getting back to the safety of my truck parked at the bottom is all I can think of. I have to get down to the trail before dark or I will be lost. I haven’t eaten anything for hours and begin to hallucinate. I see rocks in the distance and think they are tents. They end up being rocks and I feel I am losing my mind. I continue and move faster. I hear other climbers behind me, but turn and see no one. After what seems like ages, the trail finally appears just as the sun begins to dip below the mountain top and I finally stop to drink and eat. Getting the food and water quickly suppresses the hallucinations, and I jog the rest of the two miles down to my truck arriving just as the last light leaves the sky.
The battery in my truck is dead. My heart stops. I try again. Nothing. I look around and there is no one else in the parking lot. I am 50 miles from the highway and it is pitch black. I have no cell service. I try my emergency radio for thirty minutes and get no response. I pace around outside my car and hypothermia starts to set it. The lack of food and water married with the cold of the night take their toll and I begin shaking. I begin to feel myself panic and I sit down to think. Stop my mind from racing. Think. Think. I get into my car and put on all my down clothing and get into my sleeping bag. I make a hot meal. The shaking stops. I return my mind to the problem of the battery.
A car is next to mine. The one belonging to the other climbers. Maybe I can get their battery out and jump start my truck. A frustrating hour passes before I finally figure out how to use my ice axe to pop their hood and get their battery out. Hooray! I am saved. My celebration is cut short when I plug it into my car and it doesn’t work. Their battery is too small for my truck and fails to even turn the engine once! Finally drained of all hope I put their battery back and jump into my truck to sleep until dawn at which point I will plan out my escape.
I get started the next morning and plan to climb back to the base camp I couldn’t find earlier and find the other climbers for help. I leave a make-shift sign on my car stating my predicament in case the rangers come and I head back up the mountain.
I am sore but I am desperate. I worry that my wife is worried. I almost run the three miles back up the mountain to the base camp at 10,000 feet. I find it. There are no climbers there! I blow my whistle continuously. I see no one.
By 10am I have given up on finding them and head down the mountain. An hour later I see the climbers coming towards me. They had gotten lost on the wrong trail and had passed me earlier.
Relief! I ask for his phone and quickly call Steph. Tell her everything is OK and I will call her back soon. We get back to my car and it jump starts with no problem.
I thank the climbers and hurriedly drive away. Back to town and safety and people. I am safe.
I decide never to climb alone again.