Fred and I had planned on going on a climb this weekend, but around 5:00 AM, he called to say that he was sick. Having got a pass, and being desparate not to waste the beautiful weather, I went out for a climb, and ended up at Red Mountain.

A beautiful day; it was like hiking through a Sierra Club wall calendar. I left the car just after nine (I got up later than I’d originally planned) summitted right around noon. The snow conditions were good, generally, although without a trail to follow, I’d have been lost without snowshoes.

Red Mountain on the approach.

I passed a couple of guys who were building a snow ballard on the ridge there. There was a group of about eight people decending just below the summit, looking pretty much like Mountaineers -- one experienced guy and a lot of trainees, all on ropes, and at the summit were three guys, who had spent the night about half an hour below the summit, with two dogs, both of which were barking and howling, and tried to trees for their own safety.

The mountain wasn’t quite high enough for great visibility; I could see Mt. Rainier, of course, and the top of Baker and Glacier Peak, and Stuart off in the distance. Mt. Thompson was directly north, and looked pretty fearsome.

Thompson Peak to the north, looking big and stern as God, Huckleberry just behind it to the right.

Our hero at the summit, the photo marred by a bit of snow on the lens filter.

I took a couple of summit photos, wearing my "McLenin" shirt, which my in-laws brought from Russia and which seemed appropriate for the particular mountain.

Red Mountain has quite a reputation as an avalanche trap, but I sure didn't see it that day, it seemed as safe as McClellan Butte. (I did the climb again a month later and from the opposite side of the mountain, and the snow was so wet and slidy, that I turned back below the summit, completely shaken. All the way down, little avalanches formed at each footstep, and I passed through acres of trees scarred by avalanches, smaller ones bent over and larger ones, eight inches thick, broken in half. This mountain CAN be an avalanche trap.)

Got home a little after three, sort of tired and grouchy.