Climbing Mount Shasta	Short Cuts
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By: Michal Warzecha - 9/2000

All photos and text (c) Michal Warzecha except where noted. All rights reserved.

Part 6: Frostbite, Rooster Tails, and Sore Rumps

Starting the descent from Shasta'a summit

As we descended the plug, the wind began roaring. It pierced my winter balaclava, and my ears began going numb. I quickly threw on my jacket hood to avoid frostbite and cut the wind. My thought was how bizarre would it be to enter an ER in the hot Sacramento Valley complaining of frostbite! With the wind, walking across the football field was adventurous. All I could think of was getting below Red Banks and out of this nasty gale. We reached the top of Misery Hill and the long down-climb to Red Banks. The face of the hill had too little snow for a glissade, and in the thin air all we could think about was breathing at sea level again.

Back down Misery Hill

We eventually reached the top of Red Banks, and in the weird microclimates of volcanoes, the wind was not blowing and the temperature was tolerable. Our excitement had slowly built to this moment, we knew we could begin to glissade! With an easy ride on our posteriors, we could be back at basecamp in no time flat. To prepare, we made sure our cloths were on tightly and that every seam (such as gloves and jackets) was covered. During a glissade, snow will creep in everywhere. We felt like gladiators preparing for battle.

During our preparations, we had one slight problem; we could not see the end of the glissade path. A cardinal rule of glissading is that one MUST always see the glissade path. People have died sliding off cliffs, into rock faces, or crevasses. I had remembered from previous trips that the path through Red Banks was very fast and it was easy to whack the sides of the chimneys if you developed too much speed. I began gingerly glissading through the chimneys, ever cognoscente of what lay below and in my path. Steve and three other climbers followed my lead. As I slid, I saw the path veer sharply right and rapidly descend the steep chimney where the bowling pin incident had occurred. I came to a stop and flagged the glissaders behind me to stop. Sure enough, in veering right, the path aimed for a rockbank. If I had not stopped before reaching the turn, I would have had a bone breaking halt on the rockband. Our team of five walked past the rockband to the top of the chimney.

The slide through the chimney looked innocuous enough. In my bleary climb up, I did not remember seeing any hazards. From my vantagepoint, the entire chute looked snow filled and the run-out ended without hazards. Looking at the chute, I thought, "This is where the fun begins!". I could feel the spirit of my Schlitz laden college days, sledding on cafeteria trays at Nicholes Arboretum in Ann Arbor. I sat down, planted my iceaxe behind me as a rudder, and pushed off into the chute. I quickly gained breakneck speed, and I dug my heels in to slow down. A rooster tail of snow fanned out from my feet and left a spray behind me. Then, something very unexpected and rather painful happened. The snow had concealed a large boulder, and I hit the surface at high speed. To make matters worse, there was a drop off at the end of the boulder that was not visible during either my midnight climb or from the top of the chute. After scraping the rock, I dropped about a foot and crashed into the next chute. Dazed, confused, and feeling a sharp pain in my rump, I immediately self arrest with my iceaxe and come to a rapid halt. Looking back up, I discovered I had experienced a common glissading hazard; a hidden rock. Thankful, my damage was only a bruised tush. I immediately flagged the following glissaders about the journey. They gingerly glissade the chute. Each climber gained too much speed and self arrested before reaching the hidden boulder.

The meeting of boulder and buttocks was the extent of our descent hazards. After navigating through Red Banks, we could see most of our descent glissade to Lake Helen. We had over 2,000 vertical feet of sledding to do, and we could not contain our excitement! I figured sliding on snow should numb the bruise on my posterior! I sat in the carved bobsled path and let myself go! I immediately gained awesome speed. The rooster tail billowed from my ankles and shot over my head. I yelped in the excitement as I roared past the heart and down the valley we worked so hard to climb. I passed many climbing parties still trudging up the mountain, and I was not envious of the road they had ahead of them. In barely 90 minutes, we traveled from the top of Red Banks to Helen Lake. Just above Lake Helen, Steve and I regrouped. We had snow in every nook and cranny of our clothing. It did not matter, we were giddy from the ride and happy that we did not have to down-climb any of it! Amazingly, the weather was hot, and the snow throughout our clothing felt strangely refreshing. After walking through the bustling camp at Helen Lake, we did one last glissade to our lonely campsite at 9,300 ft. Stumbling into our camp, we knew the worst was behind us, and all we had to do was hike to the truck.

Happy to be back to high camp near Helen Lake

At this point, all we wanted was to return home. We had been up for over twelve hours (and it was only 1:30 p.m.) and we were exhausted. Packing up camp felt like hard labor, but every chore we completed was another step towards home. An hour later, we had the packs ready. We took one more look at the route we just climbed, then hoisted our packs. After all we had done, the backpacks felt twice as heavy as during our first day. The straps dug painfully into my shoulders, and I felt my knees strain under the load. Each year seems so much further away from my early twenties…

The hike to Horse Camp did not last long, and watching the Sierra Club hut approach before us was tantalizing. Each step was a step closer to home. The air was hot (we were wearing only shorts and a tee shirt by now) and we were no longer on snow. Our plastic climbing boots, which served us very well on the hard, frozen snow, were now causing each step on the valley rocks to be painful and stiff. This is the price one pays for carrying less gear. In a little over an hour, we were less than a ¼ mile from the hut and began seeing day hikers from the parking lot. Another refreshing sign that we were close the end. At the hut, we wolfed down cold water from the spring and soaked up the view of the mountain. For the first time, the mountain was clear of clouds - the weather must have been nice on the summit. Very quickly, the urge to return home overtook our sense, and again we hoisted our packs and began the trek home. From Horse Camp to the parking lot, the trail is easy and quick. For this 1.2 mile jaunt, I felt an extra burst of energy and longing for the end. Without realizing it, I began pulling ahead of Steve, and my easy hike became a forced march. All I wanted in the world was return to the truck! I kept hiking faster and faster, even with the pack on my back! When I caught my first glimpse of the lot, I just hit full throttle and pushed myself to the end. I reached the truck and promptly collapsed on the hot asphalt. Several minutes later, Steve joined me. WE DID IT! WE MADE IT! WE SUMMITTED! A feeling of great accomplishment washed over us, and we were giddy with success. It was over. Yes, it was a struggle, but worth every effort. I live for this feeling, and it can only be attained by summitting a Cascade volcano.

[ Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI ]