North Cascades

Jesse and I took a couple rest days after Rainier to recover and work on our rock climbing. Both of us are reasonably proficient, but climbing well as a team is key to success in the alpine and proficiency does not necessarily equate to good teamwork. We headed up to Index where Jesse led his first pitch of 5.10-. More importantly, we climbed well together after a long hiatus. Things were looking great.

We'd planned on climbing three long, committing alpine routes in the Enchantments. This area of the Cascades is popular and crowded all summer due to its proximity to Seattle and the relatively good weather. Jim Nelson, a friend of Jesse's and the owner of Pro Mountain Sports, talked us out of our objectives. He instead suggested something in the North Cascades National Park -- the Torment-Forbidden Traverse. It's typically a 2-3 day route over a couple miles of technical terrain, but Jesse and I decided to do it in a day. We felt that success was all but assured considering how well the route matched up to our strengths.

The approach went quickly as we half-hiked, half-jogged up to the base. If we could keep our pace up, we'd be off the ridge long before the sun went down.



Instead of wasting time on the South Ridge of Torment and traversing across the Southeast Face, we elected to climb the face directly. I'd read a report on it the night before and the guidebook said that the climbing was 4th class. Jesse started up across steep granite slabs in his tennies. He was ~180' up when he built our first anchor. I was confused, since we'd planned to simul-climb the entire face and stop only on the summit or to unrope. The climbing was more challenging than 4th class, however. I had to yard on gear a few times on account of my boots.

Things were not looking up when I reached Jesse's belay. He'd warned me earlier not to put unneccesary weight on the rope. As I climbed up, I realized why. All three pieces of protection were marginal. Two were plugged into cracks around a big, loose block. Another was wedged between two miniscule, unattached chunks of granite. The climbing above our belay was steep and loose.

Still, it looked like we could escape upwards if we could pull through the next ten feet.

Jesse showed me just how impossible that would be. The key moves would require pulling on a unattached block of granite that, when weighted, threatened to land on the belay. That block was the impetus for his building our crappy belay. We surveyed all possible options and arrived at the same conclusion: time to bail off of questionable protection. Then came that nastly sinking sensation in my guts.

Jesse went first with all of our gear. He had a nut holding the weight and two cams backing it up. The plan was for me to remove the back-ups if the nut looked solid on Jesse's rappel. The nut shifted.

I didn't know that sinking sensations could worsen. I thought that they were like getting kicked in the junk. I thought that as soon as the feeling had taken hold completely, things couldn't get any more intense. When the nut started popping down the slot with Jesse on rappel, I had the feeling of being on a roller coaster that had just gone over a small hump and was now diving down the big drop. I wanted to puke.

The nut re-lodged itself with one side against solid stone and the other held up by a small, artificial constriction of loose grit. Jesse completed his rappel and I decided to leave one of the cams as back up even though I couldn't move the nut from its new resting place. My trip down the rope was terrifying though uneventful. The next rappel when smoothly and soon enough we were down. Back at the base of Torment.

At first I felt grateful that things had gone as they had. After all, we'd escaped from a crappy situation with no injuries. We were alive and well, even though we'd left $110 in gear on the mountain. Then the questions started. What if we'd looked a little harder at the options above the belay? What if we had started climbing from higher up on the snowfield? Why hadn't we done what Jim recommended and climbed the South Ridge instead of the SE Face?

I didn't understand how Dad could appear so peaceful after failing on Rainier. He'd chosen to turn around due only to his fear. Jesse and I were faced with insurmountable, life-threatening obstacles and still, less than 20 minutes later, I felt disappointed and hollow. Our decision seemed questionable. We should not have failed, but we did. Was it really due to insurmountable obstacles or did I share more in common with Dad than I first thought? Had we simply given in to the Fear?