Journeys: Catching A Buzz On Beehive Peak

This entry featured as an article at livingbozeman.com

http://livingbozeman.com/beehive-peak/

“I want to do something big on Friday.” I tell friend and photographer Ryan Day Thompson. “I am thinking Gallatin Peak.” I continue. Ryan's face drops and I can tell that the thought of a 16+ mile day hiking in snow does not appeal to him.

It is Monday and we are standing in the Eye in the Sky in Big Sky, MT. Eye in the Sky owner, Kene Sperry, sits on a couch shuffling through some paperwork. Ryan glances up from the floor and suggests, “What about Beehive?” I consider his point for a moment. Beehive Peak has a shorter approach, the landscape is stunning, and the climbing challenging. I agree and we hash out details for Friday.

On the approach.

Friday morning is warm and gray. A storm threatens, but there is little precipitation. It is 9:30 a.m. And I find myself stuck on a sad patch of snow in a rock constriction in the southeast couloir of Beehive Peak. The wind howls like a freight train scouring my face with snow that feels like sand paper. Adding insult to injury my pack straps whip into my face hitting me square on the lips. The slap stings and I run my tongue across my bottom lip expecting to taste blood. My frustration is on the rise when suddenly my prescription sport glasses ice over and I can see nothing. All of this is going on while I awkwardly attempt to strap into my crampons without tumbling backwards down exposed rock and out of the gully.

I scream! I curse! The wind howls louder. My foot slips and adrenaline jolts my system. I curse again. I take a deep breath and calm down. I wipe the ice off of my lenses and refocus on strapping into my crampons. I manage the left one then have to rest, because my calves are tiring from standing in such a tense position for so long. I take another deep breath and somehow slip my right foot into its crampon. I relax feeling the spikes dig into the snow and rock.

I unholster my ice axe and retighten my pack. I look up at the low angle rock and ice above me and make another attempt. My left foot finds the tiniest home in a narrow strip of ice while my right foot stems out to rock. I work rock holds with my right hand and try to sink my pick into anything with my left hand. I move up a few feet. Rock holds run out and I desperately swing my axe looking for something, anything, so that I can move my feet higher. The ice axe real estate market is no good and I am forced back down to my sad patch of snow.

Deflated, I am ready to turn back and descend the little bit of the gully I have climbed. I glance out to my left at more low angle rock and suddenly see all the moves come together. I tip toe out a ledge inches wide then holster my axe to climb up blocks and ledges to the top of the constriction. The climbing is delicate, but easy and a huge relief compared to the frustration I felt earlier. Soon I am above the constriction and post holing in deep snow to the top of the gully.

Howling wind in the southeast couloir.

At the top I plop down behind a rock to escape the wind. The backside of the ridge is calm. I look up at the 5^th class summit ridge traverse called Follow the Swarm and assess my options. I can see the wind blowing snow off of the ridge and imagine the misery. Visibility is low and continuing up the route seems like a bad idea. I leave my pack by the rock and make a few steps up the ridge to test the waters. The wind slams into my left side and my glasses start to glaze with ice and snow. I turn back and decide to down climb the southeast couloir.

Back in the basin I dig a hole beside a boulder to hide from the wind. I devour a bagel and text Ryan to see if we are still on track for our 3 p.m. meet up. I finish the bagel and feel my toes getting cold. I leave the hole to walk around and warm up. It is 12:30 p.m. now. I am going to freeze waiting for Ryan. I get a text from Ryan. The bad news is that Ryan cannot make it due to unforeseen circumstances and will not get to shoot photos of me climbing. The good news is that I can start climbing, which will warm me back up. I head for the 4^th of July Couloir and start post holing up the wide gully.

I move steadily up the couloir to the col where the 4^th class descent gully continues up to the right. I continue past this gully for 20 yards to a second gully, which I will take to the summit. Here I find some wind scoured bullet proof snow and am glad to already have my crampons on. The gully opens up into a small bowl. I climb to the top of the bowl and traverse across the the top to the final gully below the summit block. I holster my ice axe for the 4^th class rock section and pull my way over large blocks to the summit.

The wind once again smacks me in the face as soon as I leave the shelter of the gully. The storm hammers down blowing horizontal snow and visibility is poor. I do not linger on the summit and only take time to snap one self portrait before retracing my steps for the descent.

Summit self portrait.

As I plunge step back down the 4^th of July Couloir my legs begin to transform into lead weights. The few calories gained during lunch have long since been burned off and I feel a full on energy bonk coming.

“It's all downhill from here.” I think to myself as I descend through the boulder field at the base of the peak. In a daze of hunger I stumble back to the trailhead parking lot trying to plan a feast of a dinner in my mind, but I know I only have macaroni and cheese and tuna to look forward to.

Reference image.

Beehive Basin offers an easily accessible outdoor playground to Bozeman and Big Sky residents alike. The landscape is beautiful and the 3.5 mile (each way) approach is very manageable for a day hike. Summer time activities include hiking, rock climbing, and back country camping. In the winter Beehive Basin is a backcountry ski and snowboarding destination complete with ice climbing and winter mountaineering. Check out Beehive Basin entries on Mountain Project and Summit Post for details. Be wary of the steep hill you must drive to get down to the trailhead parking lot!

Journeys: Sphinx and Helmet

Summer has faded and soon the snow will start to fly in the short shoulder season of autumn. This leaves a small window for me to make the final push on my biggest hike of the warm season - the summits of Sphinx Mountain and its neighbor The Helmet.

The standard approach for these two summits joined by a saddle is a 10 mile roundtrip hike from Cameron in the Madison River valley. Unfortunately for me and my wallet, Cameron is a 200 mile roundtrip drive from Big Sky. Not wanting to spend the gas I luckily drew up another route to these two gems of the Madison Range. Unluckily, my chosen route  from the east would be a 32 mile death march starting at the Buck Creek Ridge trail head.

And that is where I found myself at 8:30 a.m. on Saturday morning. Sitting in my truck not really sure I was ready to throw myself into this foot and knee bashing back breaker. It had rained during the night and part of me was begging for the skies to open up again giving me an excuse to bail on the adventure. No such luck. I found the courage to exit my truck and began walking.

The first 6.4 miles of the hike were a gently rolling, but exposed ridge top - a bad place to get caught in a storm. After 45 minutes of walking I decided to pick up a light jog feeling I should make the best time I could while the terrain was forgiving. After 90 minutes on the trail I arrived at the First Yellow Mules trail junction, my first landmark on the hike. I took out the map and rechecked the next few junctions; there were three I had to pay close attention to in the next mile. The first important junction was 0.4 miles from where I stood.

A mile later I knew something had gone wrong. I was still jogging and had covered too much ground too fast bringing me to a junction with the Yellow Mules Cabin trail. I pulled the map out again. I was a mile west of a left turn I was supposed to have made to go south into Mcatee Basin. I was frustrated. I had kept my eyes peeled, but had never seen the trail junction or any trail headed due south into the basin. Not wanting to retrace my steps back a mile and sniff out some confusing slightly hidden trail I pored over the map in search of an alternative. And there it was, the solution. All I had to do was keep walking a mile out Buck Creek Ridge then simply sidehill around a knob south into Mcatee Basin where I would pick up Mcatee Trail. I would follow this trail for two or three miles to Middle Fork Bear Creek Trail, which would take me to Helmet Saddle Trail and the summits of Sphinx and Helmet.

The plan was in place and it was time to execute. I jogged the one mile out Buck Creek Ridge then dropped south off trail into Mcatee Basin. I would not see a trail again for three miles. Mcatee Trail was on the map, but not in the dirt. If the basin had been more rugged, not having a trail would have been much more frustrating. But it was a gentle roller through shrubs and tall grass. The fall foliage helped to accentuate an already grand view of Sphinx. The west end of Mcatee Basin spit me out down a steep headwall into the Middle Fork Bear Creek drainage. Hiking through trees and denser vegetation, I hoped to soon find the trail on the flanks of Sphinx.

Sphinx and Helmet.

When I did I started jogging again feeling I had lost far too much time off trail in Mcatee Basin. It was all downhill to Helmet Saddle trail and scenery flew by in a blur. I turned left and started up towards Helmet when a cow moose jumped up about 20 yards from me giving me a nice shot of adrenaline. The trail zigzagged in gentle switchbacks up a wide grassy slope to the base of Helmet and into the saddle connecting Sphinx and Helmet.

All along my plan had been to climb Sphinx first. I reckoned that since it was the bigger of the two Sphinx should be climbed first in case I ran out of time and had to leave without doing Helmet. BUT something in my gut told me to go for Helmet first. I have no idea why, but I followed my gut and was soon traversing under the south face of Helmet. At the far west end of the formation I scrambled up a dirt gully then climbed over a chockstone. This gave me passage to the gentle grassy west slope that was easily hiked to the summit.

I took a photo using a small tripod and the point and shoot making sure to get the west slope of Sphinx in the background. I ate Pop Tarts then started back down to the dirt gully.

Summit of Helmet.

I traversed back to the saddle then picked up the faint summit trail up Sphinx. The summit trail eased up the grassy west slope of Sphinx picking its way through rock ledges to the primary drainage off the slope. The trail continued straight up the loose and slippery drainage to the summit ridge. I passed a few hikers who where on their way down and exchanged "hello's".

Finally I was on the summit standing next to a large rock cairn. It might have been 2:30 p.m., much later than I wanted to make the second summit. The weather seemed fine and I had no intention to linger on the summit, which offered a magnificent view from the heart of the Madison Range. To the north was Lone Peak and the Spanish Peaks. To the south the Taylor Peaks and maybe somewhere in there, Hilgard Peak. As relieved as I was to have summited both mountains, I knew I was only halfway done and had 16 long miles to get back to my truck at the trailhead.

Summit of Sphinx.

I ran off of the Sphinx and all the way back down to Middle Fork Bear Creek trail. I wanted to keep running, but my legs refused. That "legs of stone feeling" started to set in and I walked as quickly as I could back up the drainage. As I neared the pass into Cougar Creek the trail became intermittent and I was worried that I would be forced to bushwhack again killing any good time I was trying to make.

Luck was with me and the trail became more apparent over the pass move quickly for two miles to the trail junction at the east end of Mcatee Basin. This half of Mcatee Trail was in the dirt and I followed it to the junction with Inspiration Trail Hookup. A one and three quarters mile climb put me back on Buck Creek Ridge. I was supposed to come out on the trail I had missed earlier in the day and soon found why I had missed it. Once again, there is a trail on the map, but no trail in the dirt. Two tenths of a mile of a nonexistent trail indicated by two small cairns had been the crux of the morning. But now I knew what to look for the next time.

I felt like I had the hike in the bag. 6.4 miles of ridge top trail that I had already hike was all that stood between me and my truck. I tried to jog, but my legs still refused. I walked on and on still trying to run in spurts. My entire body begged me to sit down for just a few minutes, but I was afraid to lose time and get caught in the dark.

Sunset views from Buck Creek Ridge.

It was all for naught and soon I was hiking in the dark.

Once darkness fell I broke out my headlamp and had to take my prescription sunglasses off. I had no clear lens glasses and the trail was now a fuzzy tan. I could only hope no rocks or roots would trip me up. I was laughing to myself that it could be worse. I could not be that far from my truck and would only half to suffer with the poor vision for a few minutes. Then it started to rain. And it was not one of these gentle drizzles I had seen or been in during the summer. The kind that spit for two or three minutes kicking up that peculiar dirt smell in the air. No, it hammered down. It was cold and I could have gotten my rain jacket out, but was too stubborn to stop convinced that I was only a hundred yards from my truck. 20 minutes later I arrived at my truck, drenched, cold, and smelling like a wet dog.

An epic ending to the biggest hike of the summer.

Journeys: The Grand Teton

It is 4:00 a.m., I am asleep in the back of my truck just outside Grand Teton National Park, and my alarm is screaming at me to wake up. It is too early. Ah, the beautiful broken record of my summer. My good friend, Doctor Matt, texted me yesterday from his job in Salt Lake City with a spontaneous proposition. Have time for a one day car to car ascent of the the Grand on Thursday? Of course I had time!

We carpooled from the Moose Junction visitor's center to the Lupine Meadows trail head where we ate breakfast. It was a late 5:45 a.m. when we hit the trail, but we were confident that the weather would be clear all day and that we would be moving fast. We were carrying light packs with food, water, one half rope, and a very light alpine rack. Our chosen route was the Owen Spaulding and we did not anticipate placing much gear.

We shot up Lupine Meadows trail then through the switchbacks to the first boulder field. We hardly slowed through the Meadows, Caves, and Moraine and crested the headwall into the lower saddle in three hours. We took a break in the howling wind of the lower saddle to eat a snack and put layers back on. Upon leaving the lower saddle for the upper we would enter the shade of the Grand and temperatures would plummet.

Doctor Matt stops in the Meadow to squash the sun.

We slowed through the boulders and blocks on our path to the upper saddle. We reached the upper saddle feeling the cold seep into our bones. A guide and client passed us on their descent after a successful summit. The guide had a laugh at my shorts saying that he was wearing long underwear under his long pants. Doctor Matt and I continued up and finally reached the Belly Roll, the start of the Owen Spaulding.

We roped up and quickly passed the Bell Roll, a large block jamming the passage to the Belly Crawl. We reached the Belly Crawl and I led on climbing with my hands on the top of the A-frame feature and my feet on the outward sloping slab. The crawl pinched down to a 10 foot hand traverse then ended at the second chimney where I placed a cam and belayed Doctor Matt.

At the end of the Belly Crawl.

We continued up through the second chimney to the base of the Owen Chimney. Fun easy climbing through the Owen Chimney brought us to Sargent's Chimney. We climbed straight up Sargent's Chimney avoiding ice and snow in the left slot. As I belayed Doctor Matt my legs did start to get cold. I pulled my socks up as high as they would go and looked forward to sunlight on the summit.

After Doctor Matt was through Sargent's Chimney we scrambled on easy ledges following a faint climber's trail to the summit. The summit sunlight immediately warmed us, but the wind howled and forced us to find a small alcove on the east face of the summit pyramid for shelter. We enjoyed a mostly hazy view while eating lunch. Matt declared that any additionally climbing (i.e. north east ridge of the Middle Teton) was out of the question because he had to be at work at 6:00 a.m. the next morning and did not want to be completely wiped out.

Matt on the summit of the Grand Teton.

We hesitantly left the sunlight for the shade of the descent back to the upper saddle. Because we had only one 60m half rope we were forced into the slung horn rappel over the south side of the standard rappel ledge. Admittedly, I was nervous about the rappel and used an auto bloc prusik for once. My nervousness was turned to frustration when I found the rope hung up in a crack and had to use both hands to get it out. When the rope was out I could see it drop cleanly to the ground with about two feet of slack on the ground. Relieved, I finished the rappel then fireman's belayed Matt.

The technical climbing was behind us and we made a relaxed descent back through Garnet Canyon and down the maintained trail. We pulled into the trail head just after 5 p.m. - 11 hours on the day. It seemed as quickly as it had started it was over. After a victory dinner at Dornan's, Doctor Matt would return to reality in Salt Lake City and I would escape back to the woods of Montana.

Journeys: Beehive Peak - Day 2

I woke up to warm sun on my face meaning I had slept longer than intended. We would get a later start than desired, but at least we would not have to climb in the bitter dawn cold at 10,000 feet. I was feeling worked from yesterday's climb and tried to shake the stiffness out of my arms and legs while eating a breakfast of bagels and trail mix. The decision to climb the 5.8 face route was easily made. I could tell my body was in protest of anymore man eating off width climbing.

The route started in a positive left facing corner. The guide book indicated a belay stance at 95 feet. I found a huge ledge that seemed to be 50 or 60 feet off the ground. I called down to Luke and asked how high he thought I had climbed. "60 feet!" he shouted back up. I pressed on and soon came to the end of the rope never seeing a belay stance at "95 feet". Instead I was at a terrible stance at 160 feet that was not fit for three people. Additionally, the gear placements were poor and I had to get creative by slinging a block high above the belay stance with a long cordlette.

As I belayed Luke and Julie, I snuck glances further up the route to find key features the guidebook described. It seemed like we were a little too far to the right, but still on course to meet up with a roof that we would pass on the right. Well, I hoped it was the right roof. It was the largest of three or four in the general vicinity. The more I looked up at the route the more confused I got.

Luke and Julie hung in like champs occupying the belay that was really fit for only one person. I continued up good face climbing towards the largest roof directly above us. I pulled through a steep move and popped out on a large sloping ledge. Looking straight up towards the roof I saw harder than 5.8, and potentially unprotected, rock. I sniffed around and found an easy traverse to the left on the ledge, which brought me to a dirty and grassy corner directly under the roof. I paused to look back down the face and knew immediately that we had climbed too far to the right. There was a much more natural line to the left that would have brought us straight up without the 15 foot traverse.

Speaking of that 15 foot traverse...it was coming back to haunt me already. As I started up the dirty corner to the roof the rope drag continually tried to pull me off the route. At first it felt like I was climbing with a 25 pound weight clipped to my harness, but as I was making crucial moves through the right side of the roof the weight increased to 100 pounds. I was making animalistic snarling and grunting noises, trying to pull gobs of rope up with my left hand just so I could move my feet up. The beastly audio soon transitioned to human F-bombs dropped mercilessly on my poor route finding.

"That's me!" Luke hollered up from the belay signaling that I had reached the end of the rope. Grrrrreat! I thought. I was not far above the roof and nowhere close to any good protection. I called down that I might be a minute and started searching for anything that would accept gear. A small cam went into a crack behind a block that was held into the face by what looked like two inches of moss. A second cam went in a few feet higher in a weird slot behind a hollow flake. Feeling dejected I put Luke and Julie on belay and told them to start climbing.

When Luke and Julie arrived at the crappy belay I hurriedly climbed up and to the left 30 feet to a ledge with a small pine tree on it. I was able to place bomber anchors then quickly belayed the others up for a much needed break and rack reorganization. From this good ledge it was two pitches of 4+ class climbing to the summit. We quickly cruised up only placing gear for one more belay stance.

Julie climbing on the final pitch of 4th class rock.

It was our second time on the summit in two days and this time we remembered to break the camera out for photos. More smoke blew in from the southwest creating an beautiful scene with the best God's Light I had seen all summer. Luke took advantage with some spiritual poses on the highest summit block. We retraced our descent from yesterday getting caught in a very light snow at the top of the 4th of July Couloir.

"This is how you pose on the summit guys."

Luke's spiritual pose.

We were soon back at our camp on the knoll where it was only slightly warmer. We could see rain falling further down the basin and hoped that it would cease before we got to it. We packed up our camp and began the three and a half downhill trod back to the trail head. We avoided any rain and arrived tired, but stoked at our cars. It had been a great weekend of alpine rock climbing with just enough micro disasters to keep things interesting.

Journeys: Beehive Peak - Day 1

The south face of Beehive Peak had been beckoning to be climbed since I set eyes on it in the cold of January. I had pored over the guide book hundreds of times waiting for the weather to warm, the snow to melt, and for friend's schedules to match up with mine. Finally the day was here and I had an entire weekend assault planned with Bozeman climbing friends, Luke and Julie.

We enjoyed a gorgeous fall hike up Beehive Basin to our campsite on a knoll below the peak. Summer was quickly fading into autumn and with it blankets of wild flowers and green alpine grasses faded into a withered brown that crunched under our feet. The cool fall breeze hinted at the onset of winter and kept us from shedding too many layers. We made our way slowly up the trail stopping often and spotting a moose and her calf laying under a pine tree.

We stopped on the knoll to set up camp and take a break before approaching the first route. After a snack we entered the boulder field that spilled from the base of the peak and delicately picked our way up on a loose trail of scree. My eyes were glued to the rock wall in front of us and I suddenly felt giddy with anticipation. It had been a long winter of waiting.

Julie at camp below Beehive Peak.

Luke enjoying the view back down the basin.

The three of us were attempting a 5.7 crack called Worker Bee. From the ground it seemed like a straight forward crack climb with arm and fist jams accompanied by ample face holds. Famous last words. Forty feet off of the ground I wrestled my way into an off width squeeze box. I thought I could chimney up, but the gear hanging off of my harness stopped me short. I had a good laugh when I took my hands and feet off of the rock and flapped them in the air. I was corked!

I was able to worm my way out of the jam and back down out of the box. I took a deep breath knowing I would have to climb face holds on either side of the too-wide-to-protect crack then started up again. At the top of the squeeze box the rock angled back and I set up a belay. I belayed Luke and Julie up then set off again on lead.

I soon came to another un-protectable off width section that would not accept my body jam attempts. I retreated to a rest stance then made another attempt, this time in a lie back. I pasted my approach shoes on the wall to the right and worked my hands up the left side of the crack. Things went smoothly for 10 feet or so before both the left side of the crack and the wall to right became smooth and much less featured. Gripped and stuck in a lie back 10 feet above an ankle breaking fall I started to wonder if approach shoes had been a good decision over rock shoes. I was soon back down at my rest stance, huffing and puffing.

Solid face climbing and gear placements to the left of the crack made my third attempt a success. I came to another belay stance and set good anchors before belaying Luke and Julie. As frustrating as the off width sections had been on lead it was shaping up to be a fine outing. We were two pitches off the ground enjoying good weather and a fantastic view. Above use we could see at least two more pitches of easy 5th class face climbing to the summit ridge. With the hardest climbing below us we cruised to the top.

The view from the top was only slightly hazy as winds from the south west carried in forest fire smoke from Idaho. We relaxed amongst the blocks on the summit, broad smiles stretched across our faces. Somehow I forgot to take a single photo.

We took the standard rappels to the top of the 4th of July Couloir. The couloir was incredibly loose and dirty and we took turns creeping our way down. Julie went first and Luke and I chuckled as her Chaco sandals forced her into an awkward butt slide maneuver to get down.

Julie on the first of three rappels.

Chaco butt slide down the 4th of July Couloir.

Back at camp I was feeling tired, but relieved to have the first route under our belts. We purified water from a nearby stream and cooked up a big dinner of pasta, veggies, cheese, and crackers. We were undecided on the route for the next day knowing it would be either another 5.7 crack or a 5.8 face route. We decided to sleep on it and see how we felt in the morning. I curled up in my bivy sack and tried to stay awake to star gaze, but exhaustion soon drug me into a deep sleep.

Journeys: Granite Peak

A few things had gone wrong this morning. I woke up an hour late (3:30 a.m.). I started hiking and realized I had not changed into my Rec Specs and had to return to my truck. I started hiking again. Three and a half miles later I was "lost" having missed the Phantom Lake trail junction. After reaching Mystic Lake I was supposed to walk for half a mile then make a left onto Phantom Lake Trail. My instincts told me I had walked a mile down the lake and it was time to turn around. I almost made it all the way back to the dam when I passed another hiker going the opposite direction. He was here to climb Granite Peak too. We both hiked in search of Phantom Lake Trail. We found it about five minutes later. The trail sign was post 20 yards up Phantom Lake Trail, nearly impossible to see in the dark even with head lamp. Additionally, a not so helpful crumbling trail cairn sat tucked slightly under a low bough of a pine tree.

Conrad, my new friend, and I hiked up well graded and maintained switch backs to the saddle between Prairie View Mountain and Froze to Death Plateau. We turned off of the maintained trail here and somewhat followed large cairns southwest across the plateau. We crested a small rise about halfway across the plateau and finally saw Granite Peak, the highpoint of Montana. It looked just like it had in all of the photos I had scoured online.

It looks like something froze to death on the Froze to Death Plateau.

We rested and had a snack at some bivy sites below Tempest Mountain. A mountain goat seemed interested and walked close by, but never made a move for our salty urine.

Conrad making friends.

We dropped into the col between Tempest Mountain and Granite Peak. The hike through the col was over boulders and broken rock. It was a knee bashing boulder hopping good time. As we were approaching the start of the 4th class climbing I noticed the moon hanging above the summit ridge. The moon was framed by a deep blue sky contrasted in the foreground by reddish orange rock creating an otherworldly scene.

Conrad scoping out the line up the east slope.

Conrad making moves on the east slope.

We came to the dry snow bridge and the beginning of the 4th class climbing. We crossed the snow bridge and climbed through a gradual 4th class chimney below the often noted "X" feature. At the top of the chimney I expected to see the heavily photographed crux of the climb in between two chimneys. Instead we found a dip that was traversed on large and easy ledges to another gradual 4th class chimney. At the top of this second chimney I could now see the crux of the climb as well as the steep dirty gully leading to the Eye of the Needle feature just below the summit. We scrambled through the crux, traversed left, then scrambled up the dirty gully towards the Eye of the Needle.

Conrad making moves on the summit ridge.

At the Eye of the Needle, Conrad went left and I went right then we met up again on the summit block. We smiled and shook hands knowing we were only half way finished with the adventure. We found the summit register, but could not sign it for lack of anything to write with. We struggled to find the USGS marked. After a bit of searching while taking photos we came across it on an unlikely picnic table formation.

Extreme hair brushing on top of Montana!

After a snack we started the descent. Conrad had brought a light harness and a chunk of rope and opted to rappel in a few spots. With no gear, I down climbed the route. Once off of the technical route and now boulder hopping back through the col to Tempest Mountain, I let my mind drift off. I knew we had a ways to go to get back to the parking lot and I kept trying to imagine what it would feel like to be there.

On the way out. Note the goat.

Once through the col and back on the Froze to Death Plateau I felt like the hardest part was over. It was all downhill from here. Conrad and I cruised down the plateau passing weekenders on their way in to climb the peak. Conrad stopped and chatted with each group kindly dropping beta on the route.

We were on the last three miles below the dam at Mystic Lake. I was moving slowly taking in the scenery that I had missed in the dark on the hike in. The valley reminded me a bit of Yosemite. There were a few granite domes and towers that beckoned to be climbed. The dam and power plant from the early 20th century added a mysterious feel to the whole place. I had the feeling I was standing on top of a secret underground military compound.

We reached the parking lot. I tried to remember imagining what it would be like to be here. I felt numb at this point. It had been just under 16 hours and around 23 miles roundtrip plus the extra mile of missing Phantom Lake trail in the dark made it 24 miles. Conrad added our elevation gain and loss for the trip was about 7800 feet.

I sat down on the gravel of the parking lot behind Conrad's car and we shared a dinner of tuna, ramen, and yogurt.

Journeys: Hilgard Peak

The digital clock in the dashboard of my truck rolls over to 6:00 a.m. I remain motionless in the driver's seat. I should have started hiking 10 minutes ago, but I lazily stalled enjoying the last whispers of warmth from the heater. A glow appears to the east barely illuminating the blue haze of distant wildfires that chokes the forest. I stare numbly out the windshield at the trail head signs for the West Fork Beaver Creek trail that I will follow to Hilgard Peak. It is going to be a long day. I have been up since 4 a.m. What if I just relax here for just a few more minutes...

At 11,316 feet, Hilgard Peak is the high point of the Madison Range and the highest point in Montana OUTSIDE OF THE BEARTOOTHS. I struggled to find detailed information on climbing the peak online. I found a somewhat helpful description of a 4th class route up the east ridge in Thomas Turiano's Select Peaks of Greater Yellowstone. I was going for the summit in one big push from my truck, to the summit, and back to my truck in one day. I hoped I knew what I was getting myself into on a remote peak in southwest Montana.

My eyes flutter open then immediately dart to the clock in the dashboard. 6:30 a.m. A small shot of adrenaline jolts my system as I realize I have lingered too long. I throw open the car door and am blasted by the brisk morning air. Wide awake I strike out on the trail setting a fast pace.

Five miles later I reach Avalanche Lake. Campfires crackle, dogs bark, and the smell of coffee fills the air as weekend backpackers start their morning. I stop for a snack and prepare to begin the real adventure - two miles of cross country travel over a ridge above 10,000 feet and through a basin covered with boulder fields. I pick a point on the ridge to the north and start marching.

45 minutes of trudging and 4th class rock scrambling brings me to the top of an unnamed summit. I can see Hilgard Peak for the first time. Add Dutchman Peak, Echo Peak, and a handful of alpine lakes and one has a terrific view of the southern Madison Range. I eat another snack and toy with the idea of a long and rocky ridge traverse to Hilgard Peak. I back off after 15 minutes when I give up down climbing a blank face with committing moves. Instead I descend a steep and loose gully on the north face of the unnamed peak.

Summit of unnamed peak. Hilgard Peak in the background.

I stopped in the basin to empty all of the dirt and rock out of my shoes. I continued through the boulder fields lining the basin. The gentle pitch of the basin did not last long and soon I was march up steep slopes toward the East Col. I passed through a higher hanging basin with a teal blue lake in it then continued up to the East Col. I looked up at the east face of Hilgard Peak and tried to remember exactly where the guidebook said the route was.

I chose the northern most gully on the east face and started climbing. The gully had grass and dirt in a narrow strip in the gut. Otherwise it was 4th class all the way to the top. I proudly stood on the summit. I looked north and saw another summit just to the north separated by a small and airy notch. From the south summit, the north summit looked taller. Which summit was the taller of the two? I took some photos and scrambled around. I looked at the traverse between the two summits and finally worked up the courage to go for it. Descending the south summit was dangerously loose. I was certain one of the blocks I was climbing over was going to pitch off the mountain and take me down with it. I made it down to the notch and skipped across it. The north summit on the other side was just as loose. I was standing in a small pile of fine gravel just big enough for both of my feet. Behind me was nothing but air. I made a low 5th class move over a block and sprinted for the summit on better ground. Good luck down climbing that I thought to myself.

On the south and taller summit of Hilgard Peak.

On the north summit I found a register and signed it. The register indicated that the south summit was the taller of the two. At least I had stood on the tallest one. And now back through the airy notch. I did not stand on the south summit again. I started down in a hurry. It had already been a long day and I surely had seven or eight hard miles to get back to my truck. I retraced my steps past Avalanche Lake and back down the established trail.

The interesting summit register on the north summit.

Thankfully my truck started just fine and had no flat tires.

Journeys: Teewinot

I woke at 4:30 a.m. I was hiking at 5:30 a.m. The approach trail to Teewinot from Lupine Meadows trailhead was steep and not nearly as maintained as Garnet Canyon Trail. It was a grunt. It was dark and I had my headlamp on. It started raining. It stopped raining. It had not rained enough to turn me back. The sun soon shed enough light that I could turn my headlamp off. I hiked. I saw another climber ahead of me. I reached the top of the Apex. It started raining again. It did not stop. I caught up with the other climber. He was sitting on a rock in his rain jacket.

"This does not look like 84 and sunny." I said.

The man chuckled.

His name was Matt McGee. We hung out and discussed what a great idea it would be to turn back. Soaked fourth class slab with consequential exposure was an unnecessary risk. The mountain would be there another day. We hiked down talking about winter mountaineering and skiing. It stopped raining, but the damage had been done.

At the parking lot we traded contact info. I got in my truck and headed for Big Sky. It started raining again.

Journeys: Middle and South Tetons

It was 3:30 a.m. and I regretted setting my alarm. Or did I? I was tired, but excited for a big day in the Tetons. My goal was the southwest couloir of the Middle Teton. The route was a 3rd class scramble, a steep loose gully with no technical rock climbing. I drove to the Lupine Meadows trail head where I packed my bag, brushed my teeth, and tried to go to the bathroom. I stepped off at 5:00 a.m. I marched on through the darkness illuminated by the cone of light from my head lamp. Other than the occasional distant waterfall the woods were silent.

The sun rose, but cast little light. The air was choked with haze from nearby forest fires. I could see enough to flick my headlamp off. I passed through the boulder field then the Meadow camping area. Some climbers were climbing out of their tents. Others were already on their way up through the Moraine. One climber was ahead of me on the Middle Teton approach trail. I continued up following the other climber. He paused atop a large boulder just ahead of me and gazed out at something then disappeared. I wondered what he had looked at. I reach the top of the boulder then looked out. It was the sun. Constrained to an orange disc in the hazy morning sky. I took a photo.

Hazy sunrise from South Fork of Garnet Canyon.

As I continued the hike I began comparing the South Fork of Garnet Canyon to the North Fork. It seemed like the South Fork had a less established trail and more strenuous boulder hiking.

I reached the saddle between the Middle and South Tetons. I looked at the South Teton and wondered how hard it would be to climb it too. It looked like a walk up. I checked my guidebook, but could not find an entry for the South Teton. I assumed this meant it was a walk up.

I started up the southwest couloir of the Middle Teton. I stuck to the right side at first to climb solid slab instead of the loose dirt and scree in the gut. About half way up I came across a pair of climbers on their descent. I asked about the South Teton. They said it was similar to the climb I was on. Just follow the ridge through a notch and then gain the summit. I also asked about the summit of the Middle Teton. It was hard to tell because there were two summit blocks right next to each other. The true summit was the one on the left they told me. The pair continued their descent. I traversed the gut of the couloir then climbed the slabs on the left side to the summit.

I looked out across the hazy valley. The Grand Teton stood to my left. I traced the Upper Exum Ridge with my eyes remembering last weekend's climb. I looked to my right and took another look at the South Teton. The weather looked good and I decided then that I would go for the South Teton too. I pulled out my camera and tripod and took the best birthday photo for my sister. Ever.

Happy Birthday Beth Ann!

I was descending through the couloir and feeling good. I passed through the saddle and up the ridge of the South Teton. I paused occasionally to look into Idaho and watch other hikers and climbers on different peaks. I scrambled through the steep-ish notch to the summit ridge. I tried to find the actual summit. On the top of one block I found a bolt sticking out of a rock, but not USGS marker. I ended up traversing the entire Teton looking for the marker, but never found it.

I relaxed at the end of the summit ridge and ate some cheese and Triscuits. I watched a pair of climbers on the Ice Cream cone. I spotted a snowfield below me that I thought I could down climb. Might as well put my crampons to work since I packed them all the way up here! The snowfield would shorten the descent and save loads of time.

I reached the end of the final rock rib of the north east face of the South Teton and came to the snowfield. The snow was not bullet proof, but was still firm. I strapped my crampons onto my approach shoes. I was not sure if it would be a good fit. I took a few steps down front pointing then tried to turn pieds a plat, but the plastic on the crampons dug into my ankles above the low top approach shoes. I continued front pointing until the angle of the slope relaxed some more. I could finally walk pieds a plat comfortably. I exited the snowfield and gladly unstrapped the crampons.

I started down the boulder fields of the South Fork toward the Meadow. Descending through the boulders was wrecking my knees. I took a long break at the Meadow to refill my water bottle and take a load off of my knees. I was back on well trod trail and moving fast. I made it back to my truck right at 4:00 p.m. clocking in at 11 hours. I was damn tired, thirsty, and hungry.

I cooked a hearty dinner of Ramen and tuna back at camp then went straight to bed. I needed another alpine start for an attempt on Teewinot the following morning before returning to home in Big Sky.

Dirty dishes and dinosaur spray. Awesome day in the Tetons.

Journeys: Beehive Peak

I woke up in the predawn hoping for a brilliant sunrise. The sky remained dull and pale. I rolled over and looked at my pack laying outside the tent door. It was covered in frost. I had underestimated August in Montana. I clambered out of the tent to use the bathroom in the cold. Below me at the mouth of the valley I saw a massive cloud inversion that covered the Gallatin Canyon and Big Sky. I roused Tanner to have a look.

Tanner checking out the inversion.

We left the tent just after seven to climb a 5.6 on Beehive Peak called What's Left. We started on a black ledge above a black dike. Trending left I climbed an extremely loose half pitch to a nice belay ledge. Tanner followed. I started up a large corner, but soon found the rock to be so loose it was terrifying. I climbed back down and looked for another way up to the left. Once again I encountered deathly loose rock. I backed down and went in search of a route up the face and out of the corner systems. I was thirty feet up and realized Tanner probably would not be able to get up the route with his hiking boots. I backed down to the belay ledge. Tanner and I talked about how crappy the rock was. I looked straight up at the original crack and went for it.

It was loose. It was dangerous. I pulled over a block wedged at the top of the crack praying that it would not come out and crush both of us. The block did not budge. I belayed Tanner up. Tanner took a breather while we scouted the next pitch. It looked to be 5.6 and on much more solid rock than the last two pitches. We ran out a full length of rope on the pitch that turned to 4th class at the top. We sent two or three more 4th class full rope length pitches and made the summit.

As usual, things got a little silly on the summit.

Extreme hair brushing.

Oh boy...

We hiked off using the 4th class descent. There were rap anchors in two places, but we did not use them opting to down climb. We continued down the 4th of July Couloir, which was completely dry and loose.

We packed up the tent and all of our gear and hiked out. Just a few miles down the road our growling bellies asked us to pull over for food at First Place Pub. We were much obliged.