Wild and Untamed

Two intrepid skiers traverse the Picket Range.

Story and Photos By Jason Hummel

I awoke cold and shivering, wondering where I was. Looking up, I saw the stuff of nightmares – the Picket Range looming overhead, her ridges and slopes beguiling but terrifying at the same time. I tried to fall back asleep, but slept fitfully realizing that I was indeed in the Pickets and scared as hell they’d keep me forever entombed in moonlit fingers of snow and ice.

Just the Monday before, I was reading an email from a guy I didn’t know. It said, “I’m headed to the Pickets for a ski traverse, and I’m looking for a partner.” Forest McBrian turned out to be one test away from becoming a certified American Mountain Guide Association guide – one of a handful in the country to receive all three certifications. Having completed his alpine and rock climbing requirements, he had one remaining – ski mountaineering – and I knew he wouldn’t have much difficulty passing. I couldn’t have asked for a better partner on our adventure.

It took six days for Forest and me to cross Stetattle Ridge, head down into McMillan Cirque, climb over Mt. Fury, down again into Luna Cirque, up and over Mt. Challenger, down Perfect Pass, then out via the Mineral High Route to Hannegan Pass Road. We completed a high traverse of the Picket Range in the middle of winter, crossing perhaps 50 miles of some of the most wild and remote mountains in the lower 48.

In May 1985, Jens Kieler, along with brothers Carl and Lowell Skoog, pioneered a ski traverse through the Picket Range. They were the inspiration for our trip. In the quarter century since, no one to their knowledge has repeated the feat. Lowell chronicled their adventure in the March 1986 issue of Rock and Ice magazine and wrote “… As we plodded slowly down the steep trail to Diablo, our legs were wobbly, our hands and faces sunburned, and our feet aching. But our mountain souls were soaring. We had skied the Pickets, and in so doing had found the climax of the North Cascade high routes.” My hope was that our mountain souls would also soar and stay aloft by avoiding any number of failures that could beset us and force an early retreat.

Days 1 & 2: Leaving Diablo Lake with skis, boots, overnight gear and a healthy dose of optimism, Forest and I, joined by my friend Kyle, began our climb through thick woods to Stetattle Ridge, near where beat poet Gary Snyder spent the summer of 1953 as a fire lookout. His story is featured in the book, “Poets on the Peaks.” As we climb high enough to put on our skins, and higher still where we could peer over the ridge top, I could understand why vistas such as these would inspire poetry.

In the following day and a half, feet and skis reach forward and then pull back, forward and back, over and over again. Terrain rolls away and looking deep into the mountains, I notice not just peaks, but arms and legs, torsos and heads; where one mountain begins another peeks out. Within this tightly bound range there are at least 21 summits over 7,500 feet high. Overhead, up beneath McMillan Spires, a spine of rock and snow bristle with trees. It’s amazing where a tree will gain purchase.

Night grows out of shadows like ninjas crawling up from the valleys, forcing us to our bivvies or, as I joke to Kyle, “our ice coffins.” Stoves roar and cooking takes an hour. Stars tumble from the moon’s glow as the night goes on and on.

Day 3: An early start brings warmth as our bodies begin to move. A few hours tracking and we look down into McMillan Creek Cirque, our three brains firing off the same thought. “Oh my God, I’m going down there? I am committed!”

Kyle finds conditions too risky, so Forest and I bid farewell as he turns back the way we came. It only takes a moment. I turn around and he is gone.

So close to the drop, I can feel the cold breath of wind sucking me in. The edge of McMillan Creek Cirque, where we perch, is plastered with cornices. They reach over the edge and present unknown dangers. Forest drops in with a push and I follow onto the slope and slide down into the valley.

With the north cirque walls an hour behind us, the sun breaks out from behind Mt. Terror and splashes the few hours of sunlight this valley receives each day. Sitting on rocks next to a gurgling stream our gear scatters, boots come off and not much is said. Satisified, I pull up another bottle of clean, crisp water and watch light roll over the landscape like ocean waves.

Day 4: “It’s time,” Forest mumbles. He knows I’m already awake and once again we submit ourselves to the morning cold. Skoog and party had climbed over Outrigger Peak before descending into McMillan Cirque. A direct route made more sense in winter, so we begin by ascending through trees to a place marked “waterfall” on the map, which jolts a laugh – how many receive no mention at all? Without a rope, we wonder, can we climb over? The answer is an ecstatic, “Yes!”

Upper snowfields pass by quickly. Signs of softening snow aren’t visible yet, and Forest asks, “Do you want to climb Fury?” Worried about avalanches, I simply say no.

The descent and climb up to Luna-Fury Col passes smoothly. Between cornices, we drop into powder laced with wind board. This is perfection all the way to the bottom where I follow Forest on a high traverse. With skins attached, we climb until we both look down into Luna Creek Cirque covered in snow and trees that march up valley walls like lines of ants from their nest.

Before our descent, Forest pauses between bites of cheese and matter-of-factly predicts, “These will be the best turns of my life.” As we glide over the top and drop in, I know he is right.

Deep beneath the north face of Mt. Fury, we climb over avalanche debris for hours before escaping onto Challenger Glacier. Ahead is camp, a relief after a day spent climbing for 8,000 feet. As I flatten out my bivvy site, I find I have excellent views of the northeast face of Mt. Fury. Seven years ago a group of good friends and I had skied it in very poor spring conditions; it had been one of the scariest descents of my life. As night blossomed, I pull out my camera and spent an hour trying to get that one shot just the way I wanted it – a mountain’s restless night.

Day 5: Early morning wakeup reminds me that it’s winter. Between shivers I laugh, “How can I be warm and freezing at the same time?” These are awfully long nights I could do without but everything has a price. To be here, a spectator in such a place, discomfort is required.
An hour later we climb over Mt. Challenger’s broad glacier shoulder where the core of the Picket Range will begin to recede from view. Looking back, I consider the wild and untamed vista that lies before my eyes; how cultivated and tame I am compared to this place! Creaking, my skis continue their journey forward.

After navigating across crevasses and through terrible snow, we arrive at Perfect Pass. The names of the Pickets suit the terrain well. We wrangle beyond Imperfect Impasse onto the laid back Easy Ridge. Later, we have a choice – we can drop to the Chilliwack Trail or continue on the Mineral Mountain High Route. The only reason to drop to the lowlands would be for weather reasons. With all-encompassing blue skies and not a germ of white puffiness in sight, off we go to the Mineral Mountain High Route.

The next 1,800-foot climb takes an hour and ten minutes, the descent even longer. Like many of the Cascade Mountains, challenges lie deep in the valleys. Fangs of cliff on Mineral Mountain’s northwest face force us to sidestep treacherous terrain, each step further committing us. “Forest, have you found a way?” I ask. He warns me, “Stay high!” Finally, a small couloir, no wider than my skis, grants passage to the slopes below and to Chilliwack Pass. Here is where we will spend our final night.

Day 6: Our last morning we’re out of the trees onto the upper slopes of Ruth Mountain. The climb takes us from shady, powder-filled slopes onto a sunlit landscape that stretches out before us. Inevitably, the traversing ends as we round Ruth’s west face. In a cold breeze we eat the last scraps of remaining food. We’re in no hurry, knowing that our journey will soon be over.

An hour later, our skis shudder to a stop on the last patch of snow near a rock-strewn trail. They soon lay on weary shoulders as we hike out. They are no longer racing uninhibited through the unforgiving Picket Range. And unlike Forest and I, they are unafraid. No matter how often I visit, I will always awaken fearful of travelling these mountains. To me that’s what makes them so extraordinary.

For more information and spectacular photography see www.cascadecrusades.org/Ski Mountaineering/pickettraverse/pickettraverse2010/pickets2010.htm and www.alpenglow.org/skiing/pickets-1985/index.html.

Jason Hummel has been pioneering steep ski descents, extended ski traverses and kayaking rivers since his teens. Visit him at www.cascadecrusades.org and www.alpinestateofmind.com.