Wyoming 13ers Quest, The Sequel

Day 5: Helen to Jackson (4 peaks)

In the first four days, I had climbed 24 of the 36 total 13ers, which meant that I had climbed two-thirds of the peaks in less than half of the current record time. However, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace much longer–I was running out of efficient traverses, and the remaining peaks are isolated, requiring long hikes and drives just to get one or two summits. Moreover, my physical condition was becoming more and more worrisome, as I was running low on energy reserves due to pushing at 100% for the better part of each day. I was also coughing a lot more and getting nosebleeds, both the result of constant aerobic breathing in the painfully dry air. While I was technically still right on schedule to narrowly get the FKT, it felt pretty desperate, and I was very unsure if I could finish.

The goal today was to finish the Titcomb Basin peaks, namely Helen, Sacagawea, and Fremont, with the possible addition of Jackson if things were going well. That seemed like a doable task, which was good because I was moving much slower today. The effort of the previous days was finally exacting its toll.

In the end, only kindness matters ~ Jewel

I slept in until sometime around 6 a.m., and it was fully light by the time I left camp at 6:40. I wasn’t proud of my late start but felt like I deserved it after getting to camp so late the last two nights. Speaking of camp–my mom was an angel to support this crazy venture by running basecamp. Not only did she hike in with most of the gear, boil water for freeze dried dinners, etc., the ability to debrief and talk to another person every evening and morning was key to my success. So much of this game is mental.

Today, while I was climbing the peaks, my mom would pack up and move camp to Indian Basin, which would position me nicely to finish the last northern Wind River 13ers tomorrow before exiting to Elkhart Park.

The gully I climbed to reach the Divide is close to Sacagawea, but first I need to tag Helen, situated inconveniently far away across a nasty moraine. This old ram skull made a suitable foreground for the desolate view across the Sacagawea moraine to Mount Helen.

In June or July, this hanging valley is a beautiful snow bowl and easy to cross in a few minutes. This time of year, it's a miserable slog across unstable talus and slippery ice patches, taking nearly an hour to cross. The peak in the background is Mount Sacagawea.

I was planning to climb a gully on the southeast side of Helen, but of course it was melted out and looked sketchy, so I diverted to the longer but more guaranteed route up the east ridge. Here, Three Brothers (a 12er) rises from its col with Mount Helen.

The late start and tedious moraine crossing had me feeling pretty demoralized, but the classic scrambling up Helen's aesthetic east ridge is sufficient to take the edge off my frustration.

Now that's a view! Warren (left) and Turret (right) above what's left of the Helen Glacier.

Looking south to the Sacagawea Glacier and Mount Sacagawea. The abominable moraine I crossed is in the foreground.

Helen's upper east ridge is a gem. I'm in a hurry though because it's almost 10 a.m. and I still haven't gotten my first summit of the day, and the ridge just goes on and on.

At last, the summit is in sight. The final scramble is the route's crux, requiring a short bit of class 4.

Looking back over the east ridge from the summit of Mount Helen.

Summit view looking north to Gannett et al. The scree chute in the bottom right corner is Bonney Pass.

I reached the summit of Mount Helen around 10:45, four hours after leaving camp and by far the latest I had reached my first summit of the day so far. I made a quick call to chat with my dad and tried to force down some food, then retreated with haste. The gully I had eschewed on the way up turned out to be a fine scree-skiing descent route, and before long I was on my way to Sacagawea. Little did I expect, I’d soon be second-guessing this plan.

There are few things that compare to the sound of truly massive rockfall. I’d heard it a few times before, and it left an impression. A big enough rockfall episode sounds like someone is carpet bombing the mountains, with each impact reverberating in your chest and thundering with unimaginable power. So when I heard the booming, I knew what was happening even before I spotted the mushroom cloud of rock dust growing over the north face of Mount Sacagawea.

It appeared that a bus-sized rock had detached from Sacagawea’s north face and was now tumbling hundreds of feet down the gullies below, splintering into smaller boulders like God’s own grapeshot. I was almost a mile away and in no immediate danger, but there was just one small problem: the rockfall gully was precisely the gully I needed to climb! After what felt like a moment frozen out of time, the boulders impacted the glacier below, spraying a shower of ice into the air and coming to rest at last.

Geologic time includes now. ~ Gerry Roach

Insert meme of Ralph from the Simpsons: (chuckles) “I’m in danger.” Well, that’s…not good. There’s no other feasible way I can climb Sacagawea, other than by going up the gully that just got bombed. Granted, the chance of it happening during the few minutes I’m in the gully seems…low? Actually the chances seem pretty high. As in, it just happened. The combination of late-summer, mid-morning conditions and steep, recently glaciated, north-facing slopes is a great recipe for rockfall. I seriously considered bailing on the whole project right here, just because I didn’t want to get pulverized by a million pounds of free-falling granite. But of course I couldn’t do that. Couldn’t take all the risks I had taken, only to quit now. This is called the sunk cost fallacy, and it’s a great way to get killed. I knew this of course, but it didn’t make any difference, the truth was the same: I needed to climb Sacagawea, which meant I needed to face my fears and play roulette with the gully.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…

Like a refrain, this line kept repeating in my head as I walked through the line of fire. Intersecting crevasses forced me within a few feet of the largest fallen rock, and bits of white snow that had been ejected by the impact littered the glacier at my feet. I couldn’t have come up with a better description of the place if I tried: “the valley of the shadow of death.” I will fear no evil…fear no evil. Yeah, but that won’t save you if more rocks break loose…as they say, call on God but row away from the rocks. It just happens that I need to row toward the rocks right now.

To die now didn’t seem fair. ~ Ed Webster

I swear I must have held my breath as I climbed up the gully, as I nearly collapsed once I was back on protected terrain. This view looks back across the glacier to Mount Helen. The east ridge is the right-hand skyline.

Sacagawea's upper ridge is a welcome respite, offering a mix of hiking and easy scrambling. The best thing about ridges is that they're typically immune to overhead rockfall.

Looking back down at the Sacagawea Glacier. I might have been able to climb this lobe to avoid the rockfall gully, but it's pretty steep, icy, and crevassed at this point in the season. Not wishing a repeat of my experiences on Woodrow Wilson and the Twins, I chose to roll the dice on the gully.

From the first false summit, some exposed and convoluted class 4 scrambling leads to the second false summit, pictured here.

The true summit sits across another gap at the end of the ridge. The scrambling is non-trivial and the exposure is attention-getting, but at least the rock is fairly solid. I feel like I have much more control over my fate here compared to gambling with rockfall on easy terrain.

The summit of Mount Sacagawea. There is a register that I managed to sign, but the pencil is broken and needs to be replaced.

Summit view from Sacagawea looking out over Titcomb Basin, with Fremont on the left.

All 6 of the 13ers I climbed on day 3 are visible in this shot, but Sacagawea is so tall that these lower peaks blend into an nondescript sea of ridges and summits.

Closeup of Summer Ice Lake and the edge of Lake 10598 in upper Titcomb. Our camp was somewhere in that meadow, but my mom has packed up for the move to Indian Basin by now.

Next up is Fremont, and now it's decision time. I could descend all the way into Titcomb and climb the easy standard route, but this would require a second passage through the rockfall gully and a huge amount of elevation loss and re-gain. Instead, I opt to try climbing Fremont from this side, via a convoluted 5th class route starting from the Upper Fremont Glacier.

Looking back at the false summit of Sacagawea as I descend talus east of the Divide. It was somewhere near here that Teresa had a major accident caused by loose talus. Spooky.

The "other" side of Fremont Peak. Most people know it as the giant rock peak towering over Island Lake, but the seldom-visited east side of Fremont is a convoluted plateau harboring the Upper Fremont Glacier below the jagged summit ridge.

Walking across the Upper Fremont Glacier, a spot I've seen many times and always wanted to visit. The summit of Fremont is only a couple hundred feet higher, but the steep summit cliff and icy couloirs prevent direct access.

Meltwater streams on the surface of the glacier. Like most of the Wind River glaciers, this one is melting and unlikely to persist year-round much longer.

Mount Sacagawea looks entirely underwhelming from this angle. It's really just a bump on the north ridge of Fremont, but it has over 500 ft. of prominence, making it a firm member of the 13ers list. Who would guess from this angle that Sacagawea's west face is one of the steepest big walls in the range!

It's tempting to head straight up to the summit from the glacier since it's so close, but that upper section is pure ice. No thanks!

Looking back over the Upper Fremont Glacier. By midday, the smoke mostly cleared out, and the views were quite nice.

At the edge of the glacier, I gain Fremont's subtle east ridge. I know several people have made it up or down Fremont from this side, but I'm mostly relying on Sean's description from last year. The trick is to traverse well below the crest on the left side.

Jackson Peak rears its head. Despite appearances, Jackson is one of the easier 13ers, and I'm hoping to tag it this afternoon.

Most of the route involves traversing broad but sloping ledges. The few harder sections involve vertical downclimbs into the steep gullies that cut across the face.

It keeps looking like it's going to cliff out, but it never does. It's a cool route, one that feels like it should be much harder than it is. There's still enough loose rock and exposure to keep me on my toes.

This crazy gendarme looks like the bust of some giant animal, maybe a bighorn sheep, with its horn curling back to the left.

I regained the ridge just before this final gendarme since the face got too steep to traverse. Bypassing it took some delicate low 5th class moves. My fingertips were actually starting to get raw from all the rock climbing the past few days!

Looking back at the ridge that I bypassed/traversed from the summit. It looks short from here, but it took me almost an hour from the glacier. Ah, the perils of being too careful...

The summit of Fremont Peak, one of my favorite perches in the Winds.

Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
Dragged by the force of some inner tide
At a higher altitude with flag unfurled
We reached the dizzy heights of that dreamed of world

Encumbered forever by desire and ambition
There’s a hunger still unsatisfied
Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon
Though down this road we’ve been so many times ~ Pink Floyd

The diffuse wildfire smoke had mostly cleared out over the course of the day, but a more local fire had apparently ignited with the hot, dry weather. It turned out to be the Washakie Park Fire, which was first reported this day and would ultimately grow to about 2,500 acres over the next week. It was 25 miles away and on the other side of the range from our exit trail, so I wasn’t concerned yet, but I did hope that it wouldn’t get so big that it would impact access to Wind River Peak.

My descent of Fremont's standard southwest slopes goes swimmingly, and before long I'm on the climbers' trail at the bottom. I'm kind of tired and honestly tempted to call it a day, but it's only 4:30 p.m. and I should probably make a more productive use of the next 3 hours of daylight.

Shadows lengthen on Henderson and American Legion (left and right, respectively). With all of the 5th class rock and routefinding unknowns behind me, I can finally start to appreciate the grandeur of this place.

Descending into Indian Basin, with Harrower cutting a distinctive profile in the distance. It's my last remaining 4th class 13er in the Winds, and I'm slightly nervous because of my bad experience with the wet slabs when I climbed Harrower right after a rain storm in August.

At this point, I've decided to go for it, so after racing up the Indian Pass Trail a short ways I cut off towards Jackson.

That jagged ridge on the left is Knife Point Mountain. The summit is one of the farthest-right points.

On the way up Jackson, I stopped at this sweet little waterfall to refill my bottles and take a mini shower.

This diagonal ramp system provides a class 2/3 route from Indian Basin onto the upper slopes of Jackson.

The sun hovers on the horizon as I race up the summit snowfield. It's not quite time for sunset, but this side of the mountain is slightly east facing.

The summit crest comes into sight. I feel strong and enthusiastic as I approach the summit, a stark contrast to my exhaustion and misery on this peak in August.

It's always fun when your shadow stretches nearly to the horizon. Smoke from the Washakie Park Fire spreads out in the distance.

By now, I have a pretty well-established summit routine. First things first, of course, I touch the summit, sometimes walking around between a few rocks if I’m not sure which one is highest. I also send a preset message from the Delorme as verification that I reached the summit. Then I drop my pack (if I haven’t stashed it lower on the peak) and start munching on some food, since it takes me a long time to eat when I don’t have much appetite. Meanwhile, I take my phone off airplane mode and reload my weather forecast tabs, maybe checking my email if I’m not in a hurry. I usually called me dad to break up the silence and regain some human connection, and he would kindly chat for a few minutes. During all this time, I would be taking pictures in all directions and drinking water when I could.

The last time I felt like this, I was in the wilderness
And the canyon was on fire

And I stood on the mountain, in the night and I watched it burn
I watched it burn, I watched it burn ~ Emmylou Harris

Sunset on Harrower Peak. This might be one of the best views I've ever had in the mountains.

I made it back to the top of the gully/ramp system just as the sun slid below the horizon.

Descending into Indian Basin as twilight falls. After all the slowdowns today, I'm happy to get most of the way down before needing my headlamp.

The evening's last glow dissipates on the horizon as I arrive back at the Indian Pass Trail. There was a bit of miscommunication and camp is slightly lower than I hoped, but it's a good trail and I only have a mile to go.

I arrive at camp near Lake 11008 a bit before 9 p.m., the earliest I've gotten back in several days.

At camp, I settled into the routine that had emerged over the past days, now for the last time this trip. After an appetizer of instant soup with bouillon, I would slowly eat my freeze dried dinner and sip Kool-Aid while trying to summon the energy to do simple tasks like sorting my gear. I must have been pretty exhausted at this point, because much of it is just a nondescript blur. I do remember feeling pretty confident that I could finish the northern Wind River 13ers and hike out tomorrow, putting me barely on track for the record.

However, the latest weather updates were starting to turn sour, with a major storm system forecast to move into Wyoming over the next couple days. Would I succeed on all the hard peaks, only to be foiled by weather at the very end? Oh well, there was nothing I could do about it for now–I just needed to get to sleep and pull through one more big day, and by tomorrow night we’d all be reunited in the comfort of the RV and I could deal with whatever came next.

The Sunlit Summit

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