Spearhead

6:45 A.M. Sleep is important. But this is too bad. All the stuff is in the truck except me. Gotta go. Kiss Wifey. She won't wake up, but she'll know if you don't say goodbye. Women know these things.

Wonder if she knows whether or not this trip is the right thing to do...

9:05 A.M. Glacier Gorge Parking Lot. Love these new privvies. Wear my running shoes and carry my boots, atleast as far as the snow will allow. Hiking away from the truck by 9:25 A.M. What few people there are around let me pass. They're always so nice out here, especially the more mature folk.

10:20 A.M. Mills Lake. Enjoy a short conversation with Mr. Lamb and Mr. Rice, both natives of Texas. They have very distinguished gaits, and walking sticks to match.
Love this day pack.

11:30 A.M. Mired in the snow, I find our previous campsite from last weekend. It is nigh unrecognizable. Wish the guys were here. Wish I hadn't lost the trail.

1 P.M. Every snow bridge from last week is gone. Even the trail above Black Lake has transformed into a maze of pop-up scrub. Eventually, see our highpoint from last week and have another snack.

There's Pagoda. Ah, Pagoda. East Ridge. East Face. Still loaded with snow.

Moving imperceptibly up. I guess. I must be. Why else would this be taking so long? I begin a contour around Green Lake, still above me out of sight, which will put me on the slabs that are the start of Pagoda's East Ridge route. Pausing now and again for a snowball. Mmmm-mmm! Sure beats filtering water. Still have a full bottle anyway. Spearhead's pretty. Closer too. And it's almost 3 O'Clock in the afternoon.
Ahhh, Pagoda...

Every fifteen seconds, something's falling down back here. I can hear the reports, but I never see a thing. Pagoda's lower couloir (the one leading up to the East Ridge proper) hasn't slid yet. It's a little bulgey, but it's probably just fine. Not as steep as it looks, being rated Class 2. Probably just like going up the Loft on Meeker. Still, I can't stand not knowing exactly where the noises are coming from. Is that rockfall that is "obviously" from Pagoda really coming from Spearhead? You would think that the biggest noises would come from that mile-wide North Face of Chiefshead!

Well... I just can't tell. It's too late for Pagoda. I'm goin' to Spearhead.

Stopping place for Crampons at about 300 feet

S.P. into the sun...

The four-lane at half-height

A good place for a little constitutional...

(Yipes!!)

Still, at the base of Spearhead, I slog up to the biggest roof I can find near the start of the East Ramp, and put on some climbing clothes (shell pants and shell jacket), as the clouds are doing their late afternoon build-up, and I would rather be ready than make-do. Maybe it's too late in the day for a real storm? It should be...

The ramp is fourth class in angle... a rope would be a comfort, but is essentially unnecessary. I have the axe in my left hand, the Northwall hammer in my right. No crampons. Firm snow is a comfort. There's some plastic ice underneath, but I gain fair purchase on the snow overlay.

Until the gap at about 300 feet.

There, I slip numerous times, fully weighting my casually-placed tools, their wrist loops sloppily uncinched... am I about to become a casualty of Casualness??
Not so humorously, I castigate myself, for being so stupid, as a tiny rock whizzes past me and bounces with a spark off the rocky crest to my left, and back into space. Then there's something in the back of my mind about a helmet or something else protective, like a rope, or a partner perhaps... and the insults fly. I balance up wet rock, slick with lichens, exposure beckoning, and when I begin to reach decent albeit dripping handholds, I pull on them viciously, like a father-gorilla who is moving furniture to one side that he may deal with a recalcitrant son. Remove back pack. situate self on a dry rib of rock. Don crampons. Relax. Now, be swift, and remember that you are alone, climbing a wee peak on a great planet. Now you remember that you know a thing or two. Be careful.

The ramp is supposed to cut right here. Towers above... could those be the South Ridge? Oh Look, a cairn. This is the way. I guess. Pretty exposed for a bit, then it turns into a veritable four-lane highway. Full of snow. I shoulder the axe, the hammer, remove the crampons, and take in the view. I am careful. I have not been on a summit since Split Rock in March of 1998 (I mean on a mountain-top). Except for Capulin, but the conditions were too right. Must be careful not to trip over my own two feet. It's that simple stuff that kills.

A final, well-set snowpatch lets me get by with just the axe. I pause to film the "Four-lane." Then I turn a small corner to a series of ledges that take me right across the top of the vertical Northeast Face. Dollops of steeply sculpted snow await a first (?) footprint of the season. Atleast since the last big snow...

I really wish Steve, Matt & Todd were here now. They would simply write me checks for this view, for this electrical sensation. I look at the void where the snow stops: One slip, no time to self-arrest, and it's express to the big ledges of Middle Earth, some 600 feet down the face. Those guys would LOVE this!!

I cross 3 or 4 ledges, with a bit of upward climbing, maybe 5.4 because of the air-pocketed snow, and I am suddenly on the sumit talus field, just shy of the summit itself. I am awestruck. It is as beautiful as I had imagined it, but that was merely imagination, and this is the real thing. I scramble up the last bit and remember what Todd had said about the very summit, so I have to get on top of it for him.
It's 5:05 P.M., June 3rd, 1999.

Why, I haven't been on a summit back here since April 1989. Always wanted to do Spearhead. That means I have to come back and do Pagoda. And Cheifshead. And Arrowhead. And a coupla different routes on everyone of these peaks back here. Until I'm just too old to do it...