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Big Chiwaukum
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Fred Beckey's three paragraphs about Big Chiwaukum reveal that it is the highest of the Chiwaukum Mountains, rising to a fairly lofty elevation of 8,091 feet. However, Beckey inexplicably fails to describe an actual route to the summit, instead generally stating that easy routes are possible from the mountain's various sides. Having seen Big Chiwaukum from Cashmere Mountain, Mount Daniel, and Rock Mountain, it looked like a simple meadow and ridge hike, rocky in places but not really worthy of a climber's attention. Maybe as a winter or spring ascent, sure, but otherwise a simple walk-up. Yet despite the lack of a worthy route and a fairly benign appearance, Big Chiwaukum retained for me a certain appeal. Perhaps it was simply that the peak rose above 8,000 feet, adding a measure of respectability to an otherwise inconspicuous mountain. Or perhaps it was that the mountain was something of an enigma, barely mentioned in Beckey's guide, and not mentioned in any other guide or journal I could find, nor ever climbed by anyone I had ever met. Or perhaps it was that I was working on a guidebook and thought Big Chiwaukum was big enough, interesting enough, and mysterious enough to check out, for better or for worse. Whatever the reason, I decided to give it a go on the last Saturday in July 2000.
I gave Morgan a call to see if he wanted to tag along, and maybe climb Snowgrass Mountain as well if the traverse was feasible in a day. Morgan had never heard of Big Chiwaukum, and had to look it up. He probably thought "what a pile," but kept his opinion to himself and came along for the exercise if nothing else. With almost exactly a vertical mile from the trailhead to the summit, there would be plenty of that. As luck would have it (bad luck in this case), temperatures topped 90 degrees that day. We left early, hoping to hit the trail at first light and beat the sun to the summit ridge. Otherwise, it promised to be a scorcher.
After consulting maps, it seemed the shortest approach was via Whitepine Creek and Wildhorse Creek trails, just off of US-2 east of Stevens Pass. This turned out to be a dry hike through pine and fir forest, level for the first two miles, then increasingly hot and dusty as the trail climbed. The views got better and better, of the mysterious Bull's Tooth, and eventually Mount Daniel, Mount Rainier, and Glacier Peak, but the day got hotter and hotter, and the sun started creeping over the mountain before we even left the trail.
On the topo map, it appeared the most direct route would be a gentle ridge descending northwesterly from the summit ridge. The trail appeared to cross the ridge at about 5,400 feet elevation. As we neared the ridge, though, it became obvious that a direct line up the ridge was not the best route. The brush was just a bit too thick to entice us to leave the trail. So we kept going, and soon crossed a creek at the edge of a broad meadow basin below the west slope of Big Chiwaukum. Above us loomed the mountain, a dark, craggy hump that seemed to rise forever. It was much bigger than I had imagined. With us in sunlight and the mountain still shaded, it had an ominous look that gave me a moment's pause. It wasn't that the climbing looked difficult, or that the summit seemed too far away. It was the heat. The sun was inching higher, and the temperature with it. Within an hour the western slope would be basking in late-morning sunlight. But just then a cool breeze wafted up from the valley, lifting our doubts like so many autumn leaves.
Breeze notwithstanding, there was still the matter of which route to take. Being in the shade, we could not make out details on the west slope. There was a long gully on the left side, directly east of our position. South of that the slope became steep and craggy, with loose rock gullies. The basin was flanked on each side by a gentle, meadow ridge that rose high up to the summit ridge. After consulting our maps, we decided to continue up the trail and head up the way trail to Grace Lake, a known approach route that Beckey mentions in his guide. So much for exploration. But not ten paces up the trail from our stopping place, we came upon a side trail leading up into the basin. It was all we needed to go on. We left the trail and hiked up into the meadows. Naturally, the trail was lost in brush within one hundred yards. After hiking up the basin briefly, we stopped and weighed our options. We were closer to the mountain, and could see it more clearly now that the sun had risen high enough to illuminate the west slope. After some consideration, we decided to stick with our original plan. We crossed the stream and climbed a grassy slope to the long ridge on the northwest side. The climb out of the basin was steep and hot, but enjoyable, as the entire slope was in bloom. Lupine, lousewort, paintbrush, and aster burst up everywhere. Because of the mass of flowers, the meadows were abuzz with bees. Yet the bees remained benevolent. We waded at will through the flowers, and the munificent bees moved aside to let us pass.
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Glacier Peak from Big Chiwaukum
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We gained the ridge and climbed it, still wading through flowery meadows, but more steeply with every step. Within a few minutes, I had gained several yards on Morgan, who was climbing slowly. I assumed he was pacing himself. I usually climb fast, get tired, rest, then climb fast again. So I climbed fast, assuming he would catch up to me higher up while I rested, and that we would summit at about the same time. I climbed on through the knee-deep flower meadows, with increasing views of peaks to the north and west. I soon paused, and looked back to see Morgan even farther behind. We had never climbed together before, so I had no idea what to expect. Some climbers are tortoises; some are hares. I slowed down, rested more often, and took time to smell the flowers so to speak, but Morgan wasn't catching up. So I yelled down to find out if he was okay. He was, he yelled back, just moving kind of slow for some reason he could not explain. He told me to go ahead without him, and climb Snowgrass Mountain too if I could manage. I declined, of course. It's one thing to climb ahead of a slow partner, and quite another to abandon him altogether. We all have our slow days. So I kept climbing, more slowly, making sure to keep Morgan within sight.
At about 7,000 feet the meadow ridge abutted a rocky ridge with several small rock pinnacles. Shortly above, the ridge terminated at a headwall, forcing a scramble up some dirty ledges to gain another ridge. Several goat trails led up, although the going was easier on the rocks and heather benches in between the sandy goat trails. Once atop the ridge, I sat and waited some for Morgan, until he appeared below, fighting through some stubby firs. After a brief word to make sure he was okay, I started up. Several hundred feet of steep, rocky ridge hiking led to the craggy summit ridge. The summit was in view, about a quarter mile to the south, a menacing rock fin. I looked down the ridge and Morgan was nowhere to be seen. I found a spot in the shade and waited patiently for some sign of him, and he finally materialized on the ridge far below, a white speck moving slowly among the weathered rocks. He was still moving. Maybe I was just having a really good day; either that, or Morgan was having a really bad day.
Assured that Morgan was still with the program, I continued on toward the summit. From here, the route became a rock scramble along the west side of the summit ridge. From an orange-hued headwall, I traversed a blocky ledge rightward, then hopped across a steep, narrow gully and into a wider gully. A gendarme presented a brief problem. A rock rib had to be passed, either by skirting under it by downclimbing a loose gully, or tackling it head on. I chose the latter, via a short step and ledge. The step was briefly difficult, probably a Class 5 move, but not exposed. More traversing led to a second gendarme with a longer, more pronounced arete. Again, the options seemed to be skirt under it or pass it directly, but neither option seemed appealing. The gully appeared quite loose and steep, and the arete was very steep and exposed. I looked around for more options, and only one presented itself: a traverse around the east side. That way seemed reasonable at first look, up a small talus basin to a notch. Perhaps there was an easy way around the notch on the east side. I scrambled up the talus to the notch to check it out.
Whoa! The notch overlooked the east face of Big Chiwaukum, which dropped about three hundred feet straight down to a big snowfield that swept down another thousand feet into Glacier Creek basin. My first impulse was "No way!"; this could not be the route. Yet just down from the notch was a narrow ledge that led across the face toward the summit block. Perhaps the ledge led to an easy gully that could be climbed to the notch directly below the summit, which from here seemed only a stone's throw away. No, no, definitely not. Too steep and exposed. Prudence dictated that the way to go was back down the gully and around the arete on the west side. But maybe this ledge did lead to a hidden gully; maybe this was the easy way. I stood there for some time in a dilemma over which way to go. On the one hand, there was this ledge, narrow and exposed, a risky but exhilarating and adventuresome possibility. On the other, there was that gully, probably easy, not very exposed, and only a little loose, but exceedingly boring. Which way to go?
With a rope and climbing partner handy, I would have roped up and belayed across the ledge. But we hadn't brought a rope, and my partner was still in the next area code. So I turned around and lowered myself carefully to the ledge, which I could just barely toe with a stretch from the notch. So far, so good. I traversed carefully along the ledge, which was easy but very exposed. The ledge led about eighty feet to a scenic spot overlooking the snowfield. Dead end. So much for the ledge. So I turned back. Or started to, when I looked up at the summit and noticed a crack running up the wall above the ledge, in a slight corner that led up to a higher ledge. That might be a route, but . . . despite that moment's hesitation, I started up the crack. The first moves were easy, with big footholds and solid edges to pull on. Halfway up, the crack widened to fist size briefly, but the footholds were good, so I continued up, a fist jam here, a lieback there, oblivious to the exposure, and was soon manteling onto the upper ledge. This ledge angled down and left to a stunningly exposed spot just below the summit pinnacle, offering brief hope that perhaps there was indeed an easy gully awaiting me, but that hope also faded. There was no gully, just a steep dihedral, leaving me seemingly stranded just fifty feet below the summit. But here again there was a crack in the corner, which led up to a notch just below the summit. It seemed foolhardy to try it under the circumstances, but . . . I stemmed and edged carefully upward, finding good incut holds and jams. Naturally, the hardest moves were the last, stemming past a loose block at the top of the corner, but after a delicate move or two, I finally arrived at the highest notch below the summit. In a moment, I was on top.
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Big Chiwaukum summit rocks
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The summit of Big Chiwaukum is surprisingly exposed. I had expected a gentle ridge, but here was a sharp rock crest falling away several hundred feet on either side. The summit area was small, and even with it to myself I felt slightly ill at ease standing up. So I sat down and I looked back north along the ridge, and there was Morgan, just across the first arete and contemplating the second. I told him about my variation, and suggested he try to find an easier option. He found an easy way I had apparently missed, and soon joined me on the summit. We opened the register and found a faded notebook inside, apparently purchased for ten cents from a drug store in Cashmere decades ago. The first entry was made in 1960, and there had been only a handful of ascents recorded since. The last party to sign the register had climbed the mountain more than a year previously, and the next prior party a year before that.
We did not dally on the summit. We started down after a snack and drink of water, not by the way we came but by traversing the summit ridge southward toward Grace Lake. A steep rock gully led downward to a sloping shelf, which we traversed to the edge of a very steep gully. A difficult step led down into the gully; as usual, I did it the hard way, and pointed out the easier way from below. We took turns descending the gully, which was loose and exposed. A few moves down was a ledge that allowed a convenient exit from the gully. After a short Class 3 downclimb, the slope eased up, and we hiked down the ridge to a basin above Grace Lake. Our trials were not over, however. Finding a route down to the lake took some looking, but we were soon plodding down flowery meadow slopes once again to the lake. Here we took a long rest, refilled our water bottles, ate lunch, and talked about climbs we had done and wanted to do. We'd long ago abandoned our plan to traverse to Snowgrass Mountain; we were both pretty worn out from climbing Big Chiwaukum, and it was getting too late in the day to climb another mountain. So we hefted our packs and started out. Assuming the trail followed the outlet stream, we followed a faint path downstream until it faded and the way became steep and cliffy. Thoroughly confused, we wandered downward through steep brush and meadows, assuming eventually we would stumble upon the trail. And so it was, after an eternity of bushwhacking in direct, infernal sunlight.
It would be nice to say that we enjoyed a vigorous hike down the trail and soon arrived at the trailhead, from where we drove out, stopped for a beer, and headed home to the women. It wasn't quite like that. As on the climb, Morgan fell off the pace during the hike out, and I beat him to the trailhead by a good 30 minutes even though we had parted company just below the trail junction, a two-mile downhill hike. Just when I was about to head back up the trail to rescue him, Morgan appeared. He complained of feeling sluggish and cramped, but he said he had recovered and after a drink of water he seemed better. So with the air conditioning cranked up, we headed home. The drive home proceeded unremarkably until we reached Monroe. Suddenly, Morgan started convulsing, and before I knew what was happening he had his head out the window. It must have been quite a sight to the folks in the lane beside us! We surmised that Morgan had suffered a mild heatstroke. Either that, or he had the quickest onset of and recovery from giardia I have ever witnessed. Whatever it was, I drove like hell to get him home before he let loose another "Big Chiwaukum."
The next day I found my dog inside the truck, licking the passenger's side door handle and paneling. I decided it was time to wash the truck.
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