Avalanche Gulch — Page 3

Climbers ascend in darkness, on their way to Lake Helen and Mount Shasta's summit high above. The lights of Mt. Shasta village are visible in the upper background, over a vertical mile below.

Headlamps in the Dark

1. Reflections
2. Bunny Flat Adventures
3. Headlamps in the Dark
4. Lake Helen at Dawn
5. Meltdown
6. Beneath the Red Banks
7. To the Summit
8. 7000' of Skiing

However long I spend lost in the woods, Horse Camp and the Sierra Club Hut is a little more than a mile from the parking lot.

Here, the thick forest abruptly gives way to open, snowy slopes. I am well relieved to see Avalanche Gulch and Shasta's outline once more before me.

I won't be needing my pitiful flickering headlamp any more.

I pass a stand of tents tucked into the last few groves of trees.

Many of their occupants are already awake, preparing for their own early start up the mountain.

I see bobbing headlamps within, hear stoves firing, pots clanking, the whispers of pre-dawn conversation. I find a quiet spot of my own at the edge of the snow and take a break.

My God, the stars! Leaning back against a flat boulder, I'm staring up at a heavenly display.

Crystal-clear air and high altitude make it seem as if the sky is close enough to touch. Compared to SoCal's ever-present, orangey mush, this sight alone is worth the drive up.

After drinking water and eating a midnight snack, I snap into my bindings and begin skinning up the Gulch.

Warm, dry air blends with chilly downslope winds, making it difficult to find the right combination of clothing. I wrap my jacket around my pack straps and constantly fiddle with my zippers as I alternate between too hot and too cold.

I'm soon joined by a large team of climbers leaving Horse Camp. Their headlamps form a string of lights beneath me. And beneath them, I see the lights of Mt. Shasta Village, some six thousand vertical feet below. Higher up, I can see other teams of climbers, leading all the way past Lake Helen to the Red Banks and beyond. Shasta is lit up like a Christmas tree tonight.

The snow is soft enough to make skinning up easy, but I'm trying to hold my pace to save energy for the day's massive effort. That allows the team of climbers below to slowly gain on me. I don't like it. I'm guessing they're a guided bunch, so I send them mental commands: take a break already!

My thoughts go unheeded. The lower Gulch begins to steepen, and the snow starts hardening. This makes skinning a bit more challenging, especially in the dark. My ego refuses to allow me to take a big fall in front of a guided crew. So, my own pace slips, and eventually I find myself spot-lit in the glow of the group's headlamps.

I wander onto a smooth, icy runnel (formed by climbers sliding back down on their butts) and my skins make a great, whooshing 'ZZzzz' as friction fails. I'm able to prevent the fall by leaping onto my poles, pulling a triceps and possibly a quad in the process. Prudence dictates I switch over to crampons, so I stop, drop my pack, and let my lighted companions pass.

Their leader, a Shasta Mountain Guide, inquires if I'm all right. Hopefully, my response isn't too prickly. This share-the-mountain climbing is new to me, a lonely Sierra Eastsider. The group trudges on. I follow a hundred yards back or so. Compared to the smooth, level-heeled motions of skinning, climbing up sun-cupped ice in the dark on crampons is no fun at all, but thankfully the sky is beginning to lighten.

next: Lake Helen at Dawn »