Monday: Drive up and hike in.

Tuesday: McTech Arete on Crescent Spire (III 5.10a)

Wednesday: West Ridge of Pigeon Spire (II 5.4)

Thursday: Northeast Ridge of Bugaboo Spire (IV 5.8)

Friday: Northwest Face of Hound's Tooth (II class 4, steep snow, glacier travel)

Saturday: hike out and drive home.

Trip report (by Yuko):

At the end of July, after a week in Squamish, Mike and I found our motivation waning. Before crossing the border we had eagerly tossed around ideas on how to approach the route Freeway, one of our goal routes. However, the more I struggled on 5.10 and 5.11 single pitch routes, the less confident I felt about swapping leads on the 5.11 c/d classic (note: we climbed Freeway a few weeks later. Trip report here). Despite scrutinizing the guidebook from cover to cover, I had trouble finding 3-star routes that were at a reasonable grade that we hadn't already done in our prior two trips. Of course, when you're psyched to climb, the 3-star rating on a route is a perk rather than a requirement, so my thinking likely reflected my lagging spirit. In any case after 5 days of grubbing at the Sunflower Bakery and the Howe Sound Brewery, and with temperatures in Canada hitting the high 90s, I was ready for a change of scenery. We dismantled the tent, packed up the car and headed for home.

In Seattle the next day, we found ourselves already twitching for more adventure. After second-guessing the decision to leave Squamish, we stumbled upon a bright idea: how about the Bugaboos? Mike and I had often salivated over the spectacular pictures of that alpine playground, but we were limited by my snow and ice experience: essentially zero to none. I owned an ice axe that I had purchased with my REI dividend and never used, but that was about it. In contrast, Mike had spent much of the last year learning snow and ice skills in the back country. After much discussion about the pros and cons of adventuring that far when I had so little experience, we came to a compromise. We would go to the Bugaboos, but with modest goals. The plan was to get a feel for the place, scope out some possible future routes, practice basic glacier travel skills, likely spend a ton of time in the hut reading (since the area is legendary for its unpredictable weather and thunderstorms), and do some hiking. We packed up the car and left Seattle the next morning. Ten hours later we found ourselves on the rather civilized Bugaboo service road. Hound's Tooth, the lower subpeak of Marmolata, laughed at us from its throne of ice.

On arrival at the parking lot, we encountered the notorious chicken wire fences that climbers use to cocoon their vehicles and discourage pesky rodents from chewing the intestines of their cars. We rolled up our sleeves and finished in about 20 minutes. Here it looks like I'm measuring the width of our packs, but in fact I'm swatting at the mutant sharp-toothed mosquitoes that were trying to eat me alive.

At around 7 pm, we threw on our packs and started hiking up to the Kain Hut, where we had managed to score reservations the night before. Here is Mike on the approach trail with one of my packs strapped onto his main pack. We brought three loaves of bread with us for sandwiches, and that alone filled the accessory pack .

We trekked up to the hut at a moderate pace, and two hours later the warm light emanating from the Kain Hut beckoned us. It was crazy to find a little hut with running water (hot water, too!), lights, mattresses, cooking pots and utensils, and gas ranges in this alpine environment.

Day one, we slept in, exhausted from the driving and hiking of the previous day. After setting up house, we decided on the 3-star, 6-pitch, 5.10- McTech Arete on Crescent Spire. Its modest approach and rappel descent seemed to fit the bill. Mike taught me the basics of ice axe/crampon use, self-arrest technique and crevasse rescue, and pretty soon we were on our way.

I lead pitch one, a straightforward 5.9 scramble up flakes. Looming directly above me is the McTech Direct variation, a 5.10 fist-to-offwidth crack. Mike led the standard 5.10- hand and finger-crack, which follows the line that heads up and left from the top of the pillars.

Here's Mike styling on pitch 4, which surpassed its description as "a superb, clean continuous pitch" in the guidebook.

Meanwhile, dark clouds sped across the sky and the threat of a rainstorm lingered in the air.

Distant low rumblings of thunder almost instantly morphed into loud claps over our heads. Just as we clipped into the first set of rappel anchors at the top of the last pitch, the dark sky let loose, pouring buckets of rain. We quickly rapped two pitches down, but then on the third rappel our rope conveniently got stuck. Mike heroically re-led the pitch of soaking wet granite using the free end of the rope. (We later heard several other parties complaining of stuck ropes on these rappels). We safely made it down to the base of the route (after the rope got stuck a second time) and encountered a friendly pair who had bailed from the third pitch of the same route. By this time, the rain clouds had moved on and we found ourselves basking in warm sun. Nonetheless, the aftermath of the storm continued; we heard a deafening crash and looked behind us to see crazy rain-triggered rock fall on Bugaboo spire:

In addition, somewhere between 8 and 10 parties had apparently queued up for the Northeast Ridge of Bugaboo Spire. Reportedly several climbers were struck by lightning on the route but amazingly there were no fatalities.

While making dinner that evening, we mulled over ideas for the next day. Dinner consisted of experimenting with a new recipe for pasta carbonara; it came out so beastly that we chucked it into our trash bag. Of course, since you pack out your trash in the Bugaboos, this translated into lugging an extra two pounds of spoiled pasta down to the car several days later. In any event, the plan was for an alpine start, followed by the West Ridge of Pigeon Spire. This route is a 5.4 classic that routinely invites photographs of climbers au cheval when navigating its narrow ridge. Invigorated by the ease with which we had climbed McTech, I found myself thinking it silly to waste time on "just" a 5.4 the next day.  I hinted to Mike that perhaps we ought to think about doing a 5.10 or 5.11. Mike chuckled and then sagely showed me a page in Atkinson and Piche's guidebook on the Bugaboos. "Temper your enthusiasm, start small and build up to the big routes" advocate the authors, exhorting the wisdom of starting out on the West Ridge of Pigeon Spire as a first climb. Fine, I grumbled to myself. Little did I realize what was in stock for me the next day. 

The alarms went off at 2:30 the next morning, and we softly tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen area to avoid arousing our fellow climbers. Exhilarated by the early start, we quickly started up the trail following the iridescent glow of our headlamps. Unfortunately, I was ridiculously out of shape, thanks to a month of long hours of work and studying. I slogged up the trail at a snail's pace.

We roped up to ascend the snow-covered Bugaboo-Snowpatch col. After traversing the bergschrund (the first I've ever seen) on the right side, we were almost at the top of the col. Mike was ahead of me, and as he got to the top, he exclaimed, "Wow! Wait until you see this!"  My heart rate picked up a notch as I eagerly anticipated ditching the boots and crampons for rock shoes. Instead, when I made it to the top, I saw that we still had a long way to go over a broken glacier with open crevasses!

In the distance, dark clouds ominously clung to our destination, Pigeon Spire:

We crept across the Upper Vowell Glacier to the base of the West Ridge, where we hung our packs, boots and ice axes off of a nut and pulled on our rock shoes. Brilliantly enough, a port-a-potty type bathroom has been built there to decrease the environmental damage of human waste left behind by climbers. Without any walls to block the scenery, it's probably the most majestic views I've ever experienced in a bathroom.

By this time, I had a better understanding of the challenging nature of an alpine climb. I felt as though I had been concentrating 100% all morning, not wanting to slip on the col or fall through a crevasse. At this point, the only reassuring thought for me was the 5.4 climbing to come since I was pretty sure that I'd feel comfortable at that grade and that the climbing would go quickly. In the back of my mind was my feeling of unease about the dark clouds that kept floating by. Although Mike explained to me that this route was not considered one of the "committing" routes (since the descent involves down climbing the route and therefore provides the opportunity to leave at any time), I felt daunted by the fact that not only did we still need to climb the route, but we still also had down climb it, re-cross the glacier and descend the col, and travel across snow and ice before we would make it back to the hut, all hopefully before afternoon thunderstorms got underway. 

Fortunately, the climbing proved to be even better than billed. With stellar friction, fun moves and spectacular views, the route reminded my of Mathes Crest in Tuolumne, only even more fun...

The views were spectacular!

Down climbing was straightforward, especially with the help of some well-placed rappel stations that allowed climbers to avoid some of the more technical parts of the climb.

The climb took a little more than an hour; the downclimb slightly less. After re-crossing the glacier and descending the col, we enjoyed a view of Snowpatch Spire:

and made it back to the hut in time for lunch.

With the West Ridge of Pigeon Spire under our belt, we decided that the Northeast Ridge of Bugaboo Spire seemed reasonable as the next day's goal:

Not wanting to experience the lightning that other climbers encountered earlier in the week, we opted for another 2:30 am start. We found ourselves at the base of Bugaboo Spire still in darkness and had trouble distinguishing the fourth-class scramble that starts the route. We plopped ourselves on a boulder and waited for sunrise. Before long we saw three headlamps briskly headed our way at around 4:14 am, and decided to start scrambling up to claim our place in line. Soon enough we were simul-climbing up 4th/5th choss while two other groups jostled with us for first place. A friendly Canadian/American couple made it to the pitched climbing before us, making for easy route-finding.

Originally Mike and I planned to simul climb the entire route but we did fixed belays for the first 5 pitches, mostly because I was feeling unsteady and quite truthfully was a bit flustered after the initial stress of everyone trying to pass each other at the bottom of the route. By the start of pitch 6 I was feeling a little better so we simuled to the top.

The route provides close-up views of the Howser Towers, not in the cards for this trip, but perhaps in the future:

The final summit ridge:

We summited by 11:00am, and were hoping to be back at the hut in time for a late lunch. However at the rappel stations of the Kain Route, we encountered a traffic jam worthy of the San Francisco Bay Bridge at rush hour:

12 people waiting in line for the 5 rappels on the route was not a pretty sight.

We thought about trying to pass on the descent, but a narrow ridge served as one of the many rate-limiting steps:

Getting down took nearly as long as going up, but thanks to the good weather, we all made it back safely.

Both Mike and I immediately decided that sleeping in was in order for our final day of climbing. We woke up at 10:00, indulged in raisin pancakes with honey, and then sat around aimlessly flipping through the guidebook trying to decide one what to do. Mike stared longingly at Hound's Tooth, which was always in view from the dining room tables.

Since this is the first peak seen on the drive in, it was particularly appealing as an objective.

However it seemed to require crazy glacier travel and therefore didn't seem right for this trip, but definitely would be on the list for a future trip. Since we had already lounged for a few hours, Mike suggested going for a "hike" to check out Hound's Tooth. I eagerly agreed since I had already finished my two books and was feeling a bit bored.

Fortunately, Mike had the foresight to pack crampons, rope and ice axes.  The terrain started to get more technical, and upon reaching the glacier Mike and I roped up and put on our crampons. We passed by two fellow climbers whom we recognized from the hut. As thinly bridged crevasses became more numerous, we started to feel more and more uncomfortable and decided to turn around:

On our way down, we stopped to chat again with the climbers: Chris, a schoolteacher from Texas, and Andrew, a former Alaskan mountain guide turned wooden boat-maker who currently resides in Maine. We related that we planned to hike back down to the hut because the glacier was a bit above our skill set, especially since this trip was my first week of glacier travel. It turned out that they also planned to do Hound's Tooth, and to my surprise, they invited us to join them to form a group of four. After a bit of discussion about goals, expectations, and qualifications, we accepted their offer. It turned out to be one of the best days of the week!

Andrew was a stellar leader who was careful and deliberate as he navigated through the crevasse-filled terrain.

My favorite part was when Andrew announced, "I'm going in!" I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw him disappear into the gaping maws of the bergschrund. In the picture above, the rope in front of Chris drops into the bergschrund where Andrew is checking things out. And in the picture below, he is using his axe to carve out a path for us:

Incredibly, as we got closer to the base of Hounds Tooth, we were able to find a safe passage onto the rock. It involved easy but wet, fourth-class moves.

After a steep snowfield and scrambling along a class 3 ridge, we found ourselves at the top with breathtaking views.

Mike led the group on the way down, including a stretch of scary ice that we had bypassed via rock on the way up. (Don't let the coy look on my face fool you; just prior to the picture I was gritting my teeth and carefully adhering crampon to ice.)

As we descended all the way down to our hut, we got a great view of the day's work:

We feasted, slept like logs, and then bright and early the next day we packed up and hiked back down to the car.

On the drive back to Seattle, we were tired and content from our four days of climbing but excited about the future.  The Bugaboos has no shortage of long, spectacular routes, and with the skills and experience I gained from this trip we should have plenty to keep us busy on our next trip!