Hemingway (or perhaps Barnaby Conrad) once said “There are only three sports: bullfighting, motor racing, and mountaineering; all the rest are merely games.”
Pictures from our trip here
Two weeks ago, while planning a trip to Mt. Shasta, I read a news report about a woman who had just that same day fallen to her death on the icy slopes Avalanche gulch. She wasn’t wearing a helmet. And so it was that two weeks later, Lauren and I started our drive to go climb this same route, on the mountain which had almost taken my life last year in August. I planned to be much more careful this time…
I guess I forgot to mention the recent fatality to Lauren until we had driven 6 hours. She took it in stride, and we vowed to be careful.
We planned to climb up to Casaval ridge. In the words of the Shasta Guide book, “if Walt Disney drew a picture perfect mountainous ridge, it would by Casaval”. A striking prominent knife edge ridge splitting the southern face of Shasta in two, Casaval ridge is chock full of gendarmes, towers, notches and incredible exposure — it is a beautiful and airy climb.  At 10,500 ft, there is a small section known as the “First Window”, which is accessible from Avalanche gulch directly below it.
Our climb started Saturday at noon. In addition to cold-weather climbing gear, a stove to melt snow, zero degree sleeping bags and a tent, our packs were laden with all the technical climbing gear needed to climb steep snow and ice climbs, including a thin 8.9mm 60 meter rope, a small rock rack, two ice screws and two pickets. Our packs were thus considerably heavier than the few other climbers we saw climbing the normal Avalanche gulch route, which is mostly a steep hike.
By mid afternoon, we reached the Green Butte ridge at around 9,000ft, and set up our camp for the night. A few hours were spent enjoying the scenery while Lauren practiced some of the technical skills involved in steep snow/ice climbing, including rope management, use of an ice-axe and self-arrest. After a hearty dinner, we turned in at 7pm, exhausted from the altitude and the approach.
The next morning we reluctantly emerged from our toasty sleeping bags into the frigid December air. We got started by dawn. After a short approach, we arrived at the base of the ridge where we thought we could access the First Window.
Roping up and putting our crampons on, we made short work of the first pitch, where I belayed Lauren up to a small rock, smack dab in the middle of the snow field. Next, we traversed over to the left side to an overhanging rock outcropping, which would keep us safe from any possible rock fall. Two more pitches of steeper snow led to the airy and exposed ridge.
We had lunch sitting directly on the top of the ridge, a 2 foot wide section with incredible views. It was noon. After a few bites of my sandwich, we both heard a rumbling, then looked down to see a few rocks whizzing down the right side of the field. The sun was heating up the rocks, melting the snow and ice cementing them to the ridge, freeing them to fall to gravity’s will.
Gulping down our lunch, we snapped a few pictures, then discussed our descent strategy. Lauren pointed out that she had never down climbed anything like this before. We decided that rather than rappelling, I’d lower her down, and then down climb myself un-roped, this being faster than a rappel.
With this simple plan, we began our descent. At first we stuck to the left side of the field, where we had yet to see any rocks fall. The overhanging rocks also offered some shelter. After our third pitch, we were forced to traverse into the main part of the field — the firing line for the rock fall. I began to lower Lauren when an ominous rumble from above announced the incoming fire. Looking up, we were surprised to see a watermelon sized rock bouncing and spinning straight at us at frightening speed. Luckily it missed Lauren by about 10 feet.
With this bit of fear to motivate us, and the adrenaline now clearing our heads, we decided to un-rope to down climb more quickly. We figured the risk of getting hit by a rock was greater than the risk of falling. We quickly made it to the bottom of the field, and out of the firing line. A few hours later, our adrenaline back to normal levels, we were back at our camp, packing up, and getting ready for the hike back down.
All in all, it was a wonderful weekend, great weather and a memorable climb.