We got up around 430am Wednesday morning for coffee and an uncertain sunrise, as thick mist filled the river valleys and sporadic cottony forms of clouds wrapped around the contours of high, distant peaks. A fantasy world, this. After breakfast and more coffee in the lookout we headed towards Larrabee to ski the SW face, hoping for improving visibility, but within 5 minutes we were cliffed out on the approach ridge, nearly tomohawking 1,500m into Sillesia Creek. Things would soon turn for the better. After the no-go on the ridge and another failure - not being able to descend a minor gully through cliffs because of the frozen snow and the moat guarding its exit - we regained our route and were soon cramponing up the objective. In the transition zone between sub-alpine and alpine, friendly white Ptarmigans provided the soundtrack, a sound so complex and perfect I doubted the wisdom of human kind's obsession with itself. John bailed after the first pitch and Adam bailed at 1/3 height. Alone, I 4x4'd my way to the top at an aerobic pace on perfect refrozen corn, a wonderful climb. How good does it feel when after having slogged for days to finally be climbing the final objective; your pack so light and balanced, the movement so easy and efficient that gravity seems to change its mind and the summit pulls you up to it with some inexorable force?
On top I called my girlfriend, she was at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City. We discussed the Five Themes of William Kentridge and how the skier's right side of the gullies were softening, while the more westerly-facing skier's left walls were still icy. By the way, dear, Jack Mountain indeed looks splendid far on the southeasterly horizon...
Due to approaching cloud and an exit skin exposed to wet avalanche activity I dropped in before the snow was fully softened, but it was nonetheless smooth and imminently rippable. Due to a more direct return route and the magic of skis I caught up to my companions who had turned back over an hour earlier. We skinned back to the hut, ate our remaining grub and began the mushy ski back to the car.
Hut, Adam, Baker.
Shuksan N Face.
Larrabee SW Face, the long, left-facing snow slopes off the summit.
Kentridge.
Solo ant on slope.
Afterwards we got drunk in Bellingham and went cliff jumping into the sea near Larrabee State Park, which seemed like a suitable way to loudly lengthen our lack of lethargy in living the Larrabee legacy until I fell down some rocks on the trail and bruised my spleen.
