The young hiker (Cassandra) and her dad on the left, Mike, Chris, and Fred (with the red old skool pack) on the right. The green line on the mountain shows the approximate route; the x is the location of Lake Helen.
The name "Avalanche Gulch" sounds like a small, out-of-the-way route up the mountain; in fact, it's analagous to the Palmer Snowfield route on Mt. Hood: not only is it the main route, and goes straight up the side of the mountain, but virtually the entire route is clearly visible from the parking lot.
The route is not particularly steep anywhere on it; it's a lot like Hood in that respect as well. The stretch named "Misery Hill" in particular seems a misnomer; it's not steep or obnoxious looking, or even all that long. I guess it's called that because it terminates at the false summit (like Disappointment Cleaver.)
I'd been trying to arrange a Shasta climb with my brother Fred for a couple of years now. My hope had been to do Casoval Ridge, but by this time in the year, it's pretty well melted out, so we decided to do the standard route. Fred invited his mountain biking buddy, Mike, and Mike's ten-year-old son Chris, along. They've climbed together before, climbing Boundary Peak, (the highest point in Nevada, over 13,000') and Fred was pretty sure Chris wouldn't have a problem. And, in fact, Chris did very well, especially on summit day when he didn't have a pack.
I drove down from Seattle, leaving around 2:00 PM after the Father's Day Field Day at Peter's school, and struggling through the molasses of Portland rush-hour traffic, and got to Mt. Shasta around 1:00 AM. It was sort of neat to see the mountain looming up in the moonlight.
We’d arranged to meet at Sand Flat and camp there, and I drove around for a while up to Bunny Flat and back before finally giving up and parking in a wide area where a couple of campers were parked. I laid out my sleeping bag and bivvy sack, (and my pillow) and had a surprisingly good night’s sleep. I remembered my sleeping mask, so I was able to sleep till about 7:00. Then I set up my stove, heated some water, and had some freeze-dried coffee and doughnuts for breakfast, feeling very pleased with myself.
Just as I was finished packing up the car, the rest of the team came driving up from Sand Flat. We headed up to Bunny Flat, packed up, and headed out. After a pause, when I realized I’d forgotten my camera, so I dumped my pack in the trees beside the trail and went back down after it.
I hiked for the first hour or so shirtless. I had the presence of mind to put sunscreen on my shoulders, but not on my chest, and got a nice red pattern, like a contact print, of my pack straps and camera bag strap, across my chest.
On hike in, we passed a guy with his five-year-old daughter (her Barbie doll's head sticking out of his pack.) She seemed pretty game, I thought. They were heading up Shastina.
Lake Helen is another misnomer. It's not a lake, it's a flat spot that looks like it was formed by a terminal moraine. Apparently there is a small tarn that melts out in the fall of low-snow years. Anyhow, we made it up there around 2:00 or so. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as I’d expected (although by evening there were probably 60-70 people there.) It wasn’t any worse than Camp Muir, I didn’t think. I was surprised by the amount of rental gear: rental boots, ice axes, and tents all over the camping area.
There was no pit toilet up there, just a sign pointing over to the east (climber’s right) where you’re supposed to do your personal business. There was a tall bamboo pole with a sign that said “urinate here” right in front of a two-foot-wide yellow-edged hole disappearing down into the snowfield. Not quite the most aesthetic bathroom facilities I’ve experienced. I’d have thought that such a heavily used route as this would be more developed, more like Camp Muir, with solar toilets and a hut or something. Interestingly, you can hear train whistles from there; a long way away, but audible.
So we pitched our camp; Fred’s old North Face mountain tent and Mike’s newer external-frame tent. All Fred’s gear is pretty old, which I personally approve of. Between the four of us, we had three stoves; Mike and I had MSR whisperlites, and Fred had his old Peak One. And, Fred’s was the only one that worked reliably. My stove, which had worked like a champ that morning down by Sand Flat, started out okay but then stopped. There appears to be something clogging the hose; I used the little cleaning tool with no effect. I was pretty happy that Fred had brought along his stove as well, although he had trouble with the wind as well. I think a propane stove is in my future.
So we had dinner, and went to “bed” fairly early, since the wind was too gusty to sit around outside very comfortably. Fred’s tent is pretty comfortable, much bigger than my Eureka tent. We lay there and talked a little, but he fell asleep pretty quickly, more so than me. He still snores, just like he did when we shared a room as kids.
The local climbing ranger was coming around to the different groups, talking to them about the conditions, what weather to expect, and so on. He asked people whether they had their summit pass, but never asked to see them. A cold front was moving in from Alaska, he said, so by Monday there was a chance of rain, and more by Tuesday.
We hadn’t really decided on a start time; I’d opined that we should get up at 3:00 or so, so we could be going by 4:00, but we ended up rolling out close to 5:00, and what with the problems in getting Fred’s stove heating in the wind, and putting Mike’s tent and pack, etc, into Fred’s tent and collapsing it, we didn’t start heading up the hill until after 7:00.
Looking up the route, the lenticular clouds swirling above Red Banks.
We made okay time; Chris was doing much better without his pack than yesterday. We headed up the hill, not particularly steep, and the snow was quite nice, but the wind was pretty obnoxious. The gusts were coming down the hill pretty hard, and I was really wishing I’d remembered my hat. The hood of my shell wasn’t quite enough. Every so often the wind would die down completely for just a moment, and suddenly I’d feel so nice and warm. Then the wind would start up again, and it’d start all over again.
Up through the Red Banks we climbed, selecting the obvious gully and going to the left rather than the right, which put us very conveniently on snow rather than having to cross a wide expanse of red rock. Up we climbed in the wind which was now to our backs.
At the base of Misery Hill, we finally gave up. The hill isn’t particularly steep, but the wind was simply amazing. I’ve read about it, but I’ve never experienced a wind so strong that it could literally knock me over and, more, if I fell, I could be rolled down the hill, unable to stop. I don’t feel like I can estimate windspeeds with any accuracy, but it wouldn’t surprise me at all if the gusts were over 50 mph. So, at 13,200’, we turned around.
Fred had forgotten his sunglasses, so I gave him mine for the descent, and descended with all possible speed, glissading when I got to where the snow was soft enough. On the descent, of course, the second-guessing started. Partly because of the reduced wind. Maybe it's getting better? Maybe we should have gone for it? Maybe I should have abandoned them and gone for it myself? See what it's like to summit in life-threatening winds?
We ate and packed up at Helen Lake, and headed down. I managed to glissade well over half the descent altitude, with my old nylon wind pants providing an excellent low-friction ride.
We hiked out past Horse Camp and the Sierra Club cabin, and took some photos there. The last part of the hike out was, of course, much longer than the hike in.
We got to the parking lot, had some liquid refreshment, and changed, and headed down into town to find some place to have dinner. I had visions of a brew pub, but we ended up at a Mexican place who's steak fajitas weren't nearly as good as the ones I had had after Baker last summer.
On the drive home, I stopped at a campground near Grants Pass and spent the night, then drove straight home the next day. I was surprised to see some flags at half mast in Tacoma, but didn't hear until that night that the reason was that Reagan had died on Saturday.
I was glad to see that the old Escort is still getting around 40 mph in highway drving. It's not happy going up over the Siskyous, I slipped down under 50 mph several times, but all in all, I'm still pretty happy with the car.
I came away awfully sunburned. It seems like I used about as much sunscreen as on Rainier earlier this year, but the sun down here must be a lot hotter. I even got burned on my scalp, which has never happened before.
equipment notes: I had problems with my Whisperlite. The lesson is that you should know how to clean it, something I've never found it necessary to do before (and, maybe even clean it at home before heading out?) Also, it's a lot more difficult to operate it in bright daylight (as opposed to, say, inside the Muir Hut), since you can't see the flame so well. I am used to watching the flame and listening for the quiet roar, but I couldn't hear it well either with other stoves operating nearby.
Use more sunscreen, more often, in the torrid latitudes.