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Climbing Mount Shasta

Short Cuts

By: Michal Warzecha - 9/2000

Part 4: It's Christmas in July

By 1:30 a.m. we were ready to head out. The air was calm and cold and the snow firmly frozen beneath our feet. The moon was full and bright. There were some high clouds visible, but we were not concerned. It was, after all, summertime in California. Odds were that our only worry would be afternoon thunderstorms. Considering our early start, we should be off the mountain long before that would be an issue.

The road ahead of us was long, especially with our low campsite. We had about three miles or so of distance to cover to the summit. That may sound small, but the clincher is that we had to gain about 4,800 feet of elevation. And, most of our day would be 10,000 feet above sea level!

It felt good to be on a snow clad giant late at night. This was my element. I was wearing heavy plastic mountaineering boots, sturdy crampons and was holding my trusty iceaxe. The snow felt inviting beneath my feet, and sinking the crampons in snow was heavenly. The first segment of our journey passed quickly. The route to Helen Lake was a gentle snowfield and we made up the 1,000 feet in about an hour. Looking back across the moonlight valley, we could see a few headlamps moving up from below Horse Camp. Yep, those were the "climbing animals" coming up from the parking lot. The camp at Helen Lake must have had at least 20 tents. The encampment looked very still and colorless in the pale light. During our break, we witnessed the first set of climbers emerge from restless sleep and begin preparing for a long day. For the first time that morning, we began to get nervous about the weather. The clouds began building and moving towards the mountain. The moonlight was being slowly snuffed out. Ominous sounds of wind were howling through the upper reaches of the mountain. The weather a few thousand feet above us did not sound hospitable. I was hoping for improving weather as the morning progressed.

As we progressed higher, the terrain became steeper and the air thinned. Every once in a while, I turned around and observed how much Helen Lake receded below me. With each glance, more and more climbers emerged from their tents. Eventually, a winding caterpillar of headlamps began following us up the hill. The route continued to steepen, and reached a feature called The Heart (~12,000 ft). It was just a pile of rocks in the middle of the Gulch, but this pile changes shape as the snow melts. It will also dump rocks on climbers as the day warms up! In this area, some of the climbing animals begin overtaking us. We took solace in the fact that there were far greater numbers of climbers below us than were passing us. The caterpillar of headlamps that followed us had become a millipede. At this point we entered the "shopping mall" phase of our journey.


On Red Banks

Climbing further, the route reaches Red Banks, a series of rock chimneys at the end of the Gulch and the most technically difficult and steepest portion of the route. Although it is not very hard climbing, one has to keep his wits about him in this section. A slip could send you careening down through the chimneys. Upon our reaching Red Banks, the Sun began rising. By now, the clouds had thickened considerably and stretched to the horizon. We were disappointed in the lack of a nice sunrise, and I was very concerned that the weather could deteriorate to the point of turning around without a summit.

Scrambling through Red Banks is fairly straightforward. Enough people go through to create a nice set of steps in the snow. All one has to do is properly plant your iceaxe, keep a steady footing and climb through! Right next to the set of steps was a three foot deep trench carved out by glissaders. Given that it was morning and the snow froze overnight, the trench was frozen solid and smooth as glass. While Steve and I were taking the stair path, we noticed three climbers taking the glissade chute up. My only hope was that nobody would slip. As I thought this, the lead person began swearing and fell. I watched him rapidly gain speed in the chute (he was over ten feet above his comrades) and mow down his friends. It reminded me of a bowling ball flattening a set of pins. Thankfully nobody was hurt, but it was not a pleasant spectacle to watch.


Looking down from the top of Red Banks

The Red Banks terminate at about 13,000 ft. By the time we reached the top, the weather was very marginal. The sunrise did not help warm the day; the air temperature was dropping as the morning progressed. We reached a small plateau at the base of Misery Hill and began observing our surroundings. The sky had become a thick layer of clouds from horizon to horizon, and the wind had picked up considerable force. We were wearing all of our cold weather gear on (fleece top, Gore-Tex jacket and pants, winter gloves, winter hat, and hood) and were becoming very disenchanted by the weather. Looking down the route, we noticed a curtain of white descending from the clouds about a half mile away. Steve and I stared perplexed at this wall, as we were not quite sure of what it was. Watching the veil approach froze us in place. All we could do was wait as this new meteorological phenomenon inched towards us. When it hit the caterpillar of climbers below our perch, each climber stopped their activity and stared mesmerized about them. A few seconds before the wall hit, we realized what it was. Snow! We were being overrun by a snow squall! As the small front passed us, the air was filled with snowflakes! It was the middle of July in California, and it was snowing! Granted, this was not a severe storm or whiteout, but it was not a good sign for our chance of success. Since the time of our awakening, the weather had grown steadily worse. The last thing we wanted was being caught at altitude in a nasty storm. We had to make a decision without traveling further. Beyond Misery Hill the route is featureless and surrounded by dangerous crevassed glaciers. Loss of visibility and a simple route finding mistake could prove fatal. If we turned back now, we had an easy descent through the chimneys and a route back that followed the center of a valley. We did not need good visibility to stumble home.


Top of Red Banks

All seemed lost. After all of our struggles, illness and injuries, the summit seemed to be fleeing our grasp. It was not even 7:30 a.m. yet, and we were talking about retreating. After sulking about our situation, we realized that it was not 7:30 yet! There was no reason to turn around at this time! We could be lazy yet again! Given that we could take the entire day to return to the car, and the route to camp could be done with zero visibility, we certainly could spend time hoping the weather would clear up. In the end, we waited over an hour for the weather to pass. Amazingly, it did. The snow stopped, the clouds thinned, and occasionally even the Sun tempted us to climb again. We knew continuing was a risk. The weather could deteriorate again. But, we had accurate maps, a compass, and enough warm cloths to survive a blizzard. We decided to gamble and go for the summit.