This past weekend, I was guiding a great group of climbers up on Mt. Shasta. They were mostly all from the Seattle area raising money for the Hutchinson Center for Cancer Research. Most all of them have climbed mountains before. At gear check on Friday morning at the 5th Season, it was rare to have somebody with any rented equipment. Me and the rest of the guides were stoked. It seemed like we had a strong group of 17 that all knew each other relatively well and were ready to climb. From the parking lot, we could not see a cloud in the sky and the standard flip flops and boardshorts were the attire. As we wrapped up the gear check and final instructions, the clouds rolled in like a freight train. We knew there was a chance of showers in the afternoon and colder temps with high winds, but the morning gave no indication as to what were in store for.
When we reached Bunny Flat trail head, a full springtime snowstorm was in effect. The kind of storm where you would get a sunburn AND an inch of graupel within an hour. Day one found us at Horse camp and sharing the warming hut for cooking detail. It was great to share the space as the storm was developing outside. By nightfall, the winds had picked up to a steady 30 mph and the snow came in waves.
Day two had us on the move for high camp at 10,400’ before the summit attempt. Spirits were high as we climbed. The wind had subsided for a time and the sun came out. It was downright hot with all of the residual radiation coming off the snow and lack of wind. It was the “Country Club” climbing these folks from the Northwest had signed up for. We arrived at Lake Helen parched. We divided up the duties of brewing water and helping set up camp. No sooner than the tents were up, the clouds rolled in and deposited another 6” of snow. Temps dropped like a rock and the wind returned with a vengeance. From that point on, it was pure survival mode. We rushed getting the rest of the water brewed as the spindrifts kept extinguishing the stoves like a kid blowing out birthday candles. Finally to bed as the intensity built to gale force winds and the temps dropped to single digits. It was cold, and getting colder. The tent lines whistled in the wind while the tent fly danced and stretched over the poles. The flapping was loud and non-stop. Sleeping was not in the cards.
2:45am. Summit bid wake-up. Turn on the radio to check in with the other guides and assess the situation. The current temperature was -1 Fahrenheit with 35+ MPH winds. The wind chill was around -34F. We quickly decided that the summit chances, with this group, was off for fear of frostbite. By 4am, I went stir crazy with the wind unrelenting on my tent and the fact that I had a 20 degree bag in far colder conditions. I got up and dressed to try to warm up. I love this time in the morning where the sun is rising and the clouds create images on far away canvases. As I watched the sun come up, I watched multiple groups try to gain the avalanche gulch, only to turn around because of the horrid conditions. I knew we made the right call. Later in the morning, I had to talk multiple team members out of their disdain for not attempting to summit. I assured them the only thing they missed out on was the unquestionable likelihood of losing digits. Not on my watch.
