The first time I visited Seattle, I noticed a sunny day would bring
people flocking to the streets.  Restaurants, located where bums would
think twice about sleeping, moved tables out next to the parking
meters so patrons could consume "al fresco".  The Kingdome was
imploded because not enough people would pay to sit in a gigantic
gymnasium when precious sun was to be had.

Back then I lived in California.  Sunny days caused no sense of
urgency.  There was always another one coming; probably tomorrow, and
if not then, the next day.  Upon relocating to Seattle, I have been
converted.  I don't really mind that my office is a windowless tomb
because it might just be preferable to one in which the sun can
torment me when I'm bound at work.  Forecasts for sunny weekends cause
not only excitement, but dread.  "What if I can't get out this
weekend?  I'll go crazy doing chores!"

This last weekend was one of the aforementioned upcoming sunny
weekends.  Unfortunately, just the previous week I'd escaped a dreary
Memorial Day by fleeing to the beaches of Santa Cruz.  Abandoning the
family for the long weekend now precluded plotting too hopefully for a
climbing day out.  Of course, telling a fevered mind what to do is one
thing.  Getting it to cooperate is another.

Saturday arrived and was even nicer than its billing.  I successfully
kept the jonesing at bay and we had a pretty successful day of
puttering about the household.  We got some long neglected stuff done
and had fun with the kids.  Deep in my mind, though, I had begun
plotting the perfect plan.

Inspired by references to Bill Wright in the recent "Married with
children..."  thread, I envisioned an EARLY rising.  I'd do most of
the climbing before the wife and kids even awoke, then be back by the
time they were fed and dressed.  Now, with the kids asleep and our
chores done, I asked Mary if she'd mind.  She thought it fine and even
said that I didn't need to be back so early.  It was a GO!  Now 10:30
pm, time to pack and ready for my planned 4am departure.

Morning.  After a few vacillations due to lack of sleep, I'm on the
road at 4:30 am.  Issaquah goes by at 4:45 and it's beginning to get
light enough to hike. Guess I should have left a half-hour earlier.
Upon arrival at Snoqualmie Pass I begin my ritual, time-wasting, 11th
hour deliberations about exactly what to undertake.  The Tooth?
Snoqualmie Mountain?  Hmmm...how about the South Rib of Guye...and
Snoqualmie Mountain?  Hmmm...how about the Tooth?  Then, driving down
Alpental Road I look up to see Chair Peak looming in the dawn light.
That's it, the Northeast Buttress!

I'd climbed Chair once before, but not by the Northeast Buttress.  A
new route is always more exciting.  Beckey calls it 4th class. A
friend told me he thought the NE Buttress to be soloable, but he
hadn't "actually" soloed it himself.  On the other hand, stories of
looseness and death on Chair abound. In any case, it would be an
adventure, a test.  Better than doing something I'd done (many times)
before.  Plus, I had an out.  If I freaked at the base, I would
already be at a nice viewpoint.

I'm walking at 5:30.  The snow begins almost at the trailhead.
Although it probably didn't get down to freezing last night, the
consistency is perfect for hiking.  There's an obvious boot-track in
the snow until above Source Lake, at which point I turn uphill and do
the long sustained kick-step thing to the basin below the East face.
There is evidence of slides, but they don't appear to be very recent.
The snow is soft, but not scary.  Following some tracks, I take a
right at the "Thumbtack" and follow a gully up onto the ridge between
Source and Snow Lakes. This gets me on a glorious snow-covered ridge
and expansive views open up to the North.  At this point it appears
that the maker of the tracks I was following had donned skis and
headed back down East, along the ridge.

I head West along the ridge.  Getting closer to the buttess, the start
of the route becomes obvious, a right-leaning chimney up to a bright
bouquet of rap slings.  Behind my last windblock I put away the
sunglasses, watch, and ring, strap the ice-axe to the pack, then begin
kicking steps up the soft snow to the rock. At the base of the route I
find a single `biner with a #4 Smiley lying in the dirt.  Booty! Right
on.

The rock is solid near the base.  There's not as many incut jugs as
I'd like so it's a bit heady, but still fun.  About 100 feet up I get
stymied at a small trickle of a waterfall.  I try to work out moves
that won't be too dependent on a single hold (in case it blows) but
can't seem to find a sequence I'm comfortable with.  The wind is
blowing water up onto me from below and I retreat to a good stance to
put on some warm clothes.  Back at the impasse, the break seems to to
have helped as I now quickly work out a secure enough sequence that
seems obvious.  Cruising up easier ground to a patch of trees, the
difficult move below starts to weigh upon me as I ponder the downclimb
(I brought no rope) and think about the current r.c. thread, "Do you
cross the line?".

Once above the treepatch, the climbing is sustained.  Some spots are
more steep, some bits are more thin, but the exposure is
continuous. There's a thin section getting through an overhanging
band.  This part's a bit scarier than my previous stalling point as
it's just as steep, but the rock quality up here is more suspect.
Once more I take a long time and many attempts but finally work out a
sequence that I'm willing to commit to.  Amazing what moving one foot
up two inches will do!

Once above the overhanging band, the gradient eases but the rock
quality deteriorates, keeping the head game at constant difficulty.
At one point I climb some steep snow until I psyche myself out so bad
that I need to "escape" back to steep loose rock.  I pass many rap
stations and continue to ponder the value of a rap rope versus it's
weight.

Summit 8am.  Took longer than I thought.  Guess I won't be home by 9.
I'm glad Mary gave me that out. Glorious views early on a clear
morning, but no summit festivities today. There's too little time, too
much serious terrain ahead.

After 5 minutes at the summit, not seeing any obvious alternatives, I
head down my ascent route.  I salvage old rappel webbing from one of
the stations to use with my booty stopper as a possible extra
handhold.  As expected, reversing the tricky spot through the
overhanging band causes pause.  I set up my stopper-and-sling rig
but then find a sequence that renders it unnecessary.  From my
insecure stance, I can't retrieve the nut without a pick. Oh well,
easy come, easy go.  Reversing the lower crux is much easier by
comparison due to the apparent solidity of the rock and soon I'm at
the base, 9:30am.

Back on with the sunglasses, watch and ring, I take in the Northerly
panorama one more time, then head down a long series of wild
glissades.  What a difference to the slow, careful downclimbing I'd
just completed.  Jogging, splashing, sliding my way out the popular
Snow Lake trail, I pass a dozen parties on their way in.  I get to my
truck before the rangers do and avoid a lack-of-trail-pass
warning/ticket.  Pththpt!

Back home, 11:20am, I take over kid-tending so Mary can get some
time for herself.  Chair Peak door-to-door in seven hours.  Damn!  I
feel like Bill Wright!  (not really)