If you can see Mt. Baker, you are part of The Experience
A longer version of this story was originally published on Jason Humme's blog at jasonhummelphotography.com
When I decided to ski across Mt Baker and pack raft to the Salish Sea in 2023, I realized I was onto something special. There was a mystery I wanted to unravel, logistical problems I hungered for, and that deeper connection to the wild that I craved.
For my second summit to sea story, Glacier Peak was the obvious choice. From Kennedy Glacier’s ice cliffs to Skagit Bay’s shores, there’s 150 miles of ski turns and paddle strokes to delight in.
May 21-22: Sauk River Trailhead to Suiattle Glacier
My twin brother Josh’s call came as my windshield wipers fought a losing battle with the rain. “Did you lie to me about the forecast?”
“No,” I spluttered. We both knew that wasn’t entirely true.
At the end of Suiattle River Road, we met Matt Leitzinger and Jay Hergert. After separating paddle from climbing gear, we continued to the Sauk River Trailhead. Eight hours after leaving home, I stepped from my car into a momentary break in the rain.
The trail transformed our mindset from home comforts to mountain adventure. Wind in the treetops, water over river stones, and solitary birds kept us company as we scrambled over enormous logs and across moss-covered bridges. Through the trees, we could see rain and clouds on our heels.
After climbing 2,000 feet, switchbacks ended in knee-deep snow. Finally switching to skis, we continued to White Pass, which in weeks would explode with thousands of yellow lilies.
Matt led us over White Mountain’s northeast ridge on terrible snow. On the far side, we climbed what remained of the White Chuck Glacier, where four newly formed lakes lay hidden beneath seasonal snow. Using GPS through milk-white nothingness, we reached the crest between the White Chuck and Suiattle Glaciers. A stiff breeze convinced us to camp on a lower bench, where we built a seven-foot snow wall protecting three tent spots.
May 23-24: Summit Push and Descent
Morning light speared the eastern slopes before clouds swallowed them again. Like blind marmots, we burrowed up the Gerdine Glacier until breaking through at 9,100 feet into clear skies.
From the summit, we descended to Kennedy Glacier, named for William Kennedy who built a cabin near the hot springs where mountain goats still gather. Josh’s excited shout echoed up: “It’s powder!” Having my twin brother back on a bigger ski adventure made the moment even sweeter.
Beyond Kennedy Peak, we passed a spectacular pyramidal nunatak on the Ptarmigan Glacier, its sharp top cutting the sky. Few such features remain intact in the Cascades. The rest of our descent to the Suiattle River fought wet, unconsolidated snow.
May 25-26: River Days
Xander Demetrios joined us at Sulphur Creek. My first paddle strokes led to instant karma when I high-sided on a boulder, then poor Matt smashed into me and flipped. The Suiattle demanded teamwork through its logjams – some requiring crawling, others fancy footwork.
Twenty-two miles later, Xander left us at the Sauk confluence. We found a perfect beach camp, where I flopped onto shore like a landed fish. Camp chair came out before tent, but eventually we settled in for supper and cribbage – a fitting end to a day of confluences, where rivers and friends, paddles and water came together.
May 26-27: The Final Push
With 68 miles and incoming rain ahead, we kept a strong pace past towns and farms. Our eighth day started in dawn darkness. As seasoned professionals now used to rain’s company, we shrugged it off and pointed our boats toward salt water. We passed Sedro Woolley, Burlington, and Mount Vernon before threading through Skagit Bay’s grass-lined channels to Shelter Bay.
Like the water beneath my boat, there’s depth to this story. Fresh water meeting the sea might spend six thousand years in the ocean before becoming clouds, then snow on glaciers where seventy percent of Earth’s fresh water is stored. The oldest glacier ice is over six million years old.
Sitting on shore after the final paddle stroke, I considered our story written in powder turns and river waves. While just a drop compared to water’s epic tale, our adventure paid homage to this ice king of the Cascades, reminding me that life is best when you’re in the flow. X
