How to NOT Climb Silver Star in the North Cascades

by Darrin Gunkel

It didn’t bode well. I was sure that when George said, “OK I’ve got ski poles,” he meant he had mine, too. No. Mine were undoubtedly still leaning against the hedge at his house in Seattle. So we stood there in the morning sun, watching a scrub jay hop around in the middle of Route 2, brainstorming alternatives, none of which any reasonable person would actually consider for a ski mountaineering trip on an 8,875 foot mountain. Share? Cut branches? Tape ice axes together?

May on the dry side of the north cascades: flowers, sunshine, the smell of Ponderosa pines in the air. Nice day for a drive. So we headed into Mazama, the nearest town, to look for an outfitter. Services are kind of limited in Mazama, but a shop owner directed us to a tour guide who luckily turned out to be home and was cool enough to let me just borrow a pair. “Silver Star? One of my favorite backcountry ski trips.” He agreed with our choice to blow off Beckey’s approach instructions, which involved too much altitude gained, lost and regained for my taste, instead following Silver Star Creek from where it crosses Route 2. “Just remember to keep to the left.”

You couldn’t ask for a finer day, but the trip would have been a lot easier a month earlier, before the snow melt exposed all the blowdown littering the climbers’ track. It also would have been a lot easier starting many hours earlier, before the canyon walls above Silver Star Creek began reflecting the day’s heat, but a late start and our little pole misadventure killed that idea. One advantage: So much blow down. That meant plenty of places to sit, study the map, and contemplate how out of shape we both felt.

Fourteen hundred feet and a mile later (it’s too embarrassing to say how long this took us) we encountered our first snow field spilling down from the heights. The canyon had been narrowing, and where we stopped to put on skis, an unseen waterfall rumbled. Time to say goodbye to the creek and tedious woods and start really moving. Or not. A quarter of the way up, George’s skins began to malfunction. Time to break out the duct tape and limp on. After gaining another 300 feet and a half mile, we got our first view of Silver Star and the spiky range of the Wine Spires. And it just so happened the view spot was at the foot of a boulder field with enough melted out space for a camp. We probably should have forged on, but the day had grown long and discouraging. Why not kick back and enjoy the afternoon? We entertained ourselves watching shadows of jagged peaks reach across the U-shaped glacial valley and submitting to camp inspections by the world’s cutest climbing rangers: Pikas. Besides, we only had a little over 2 miles and 3,800 feet left to go. Piece of cake tomorrow morning ...

The next day promised more perfect conditions. We made our way across a scenic basin, about a half mile of relaxing skiing to warm up. The going was about to get tough, with a half mile and 1500 feet of slogging to get out of the basin, but on such a fine day, what could go wrong? The lift on my left ski could break. Fortunately, a pile of rock jutted out of the snow nearby. A little searching and George turned up a perfect little wedge of granite, just the right size to fit under my heel. More duct tape to secure it, and I was ready to bag that peak!

I love skinning uphill, especially when the snow’s perfect, and the slope is reasonable. (Alpine skiers, and climbers, often 'skin' the bottoms of  their skis in order to climb upward.) You get into a rhythm, and the work becomes almost a Zen thing. However, Zen things are not really about speed. We’d set a 12:30 p.m. turn-around time, and it was 9 a.m. before we made it to the top of this first pitch. We took our time traversing to Silver Star’s glacial moraine, admiring the bare larch trees and the long, long views north over the endless ridges of the Pasayten Wilderness. Breaking for lunch on the moraine, I wondered why we hadn’t camped up here, closer to the peak. From this spot, we still had 2200 feet to go, and things were not looking good. We both had to reapply duct tape (it was kind of amazing our field fixes actually managed to hold this far), we were woefully behind schedule, and neither of us had exerted ourselves remotely this hard since a trip up Shuksan the previous July.

We hit the wall at 7,600 feet. George was sure we could make it all the way (only 1,300 feet more!) but we’d reached our turn around, and the thought of doing a class 4 scramble at 8,500 feet in uncomfortable telemark boots after (how many more?) hours of slogging didn’t seem wise. Not to mention the black diamond-level ski back down, and then having to navigate that semi-bushwhack of an approach. To work off our frustration, we threw snowballs at each other until George realized that this way, we could get dinner and beers in Winthrop before the drive home. With this consolation prize in mind, we wadded and stowed our masses of used duct tape, and sailed down some of the most glorious backcountry skiing I’ve ever done.

About the Author: Darrin Gunkel considers himself lucky to make it up a challenging peak in three tries. So, in 20 years of wandering the Cascades, he’s learned how to make the most of attempts. He puts to constructive use lessons learned in both success and failure assisting BCEP. 

Don't Forget the Lettuce: A Brief History of BCEP

by Jonathan Barrett

This spring, many newly minted Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP) students will be signing their climb cards, anxious to test their skills for the first time. The south side of Mt. Hood will be the first “real” climb for many of them. When thinking about this, I was struck with a question that seemed both elemental and obvious. What did the first BCEP graduation climb look like? To answer it, I dove into the Mazama archives with the expert assistance of Mathew Brock, Mazama Library & Historical Collections Manager.

As is often the case, the precise origins of things are sometimes difficult to pin down. Randall Kester, a Climbing Committee chairman, started the forerunner of the current program in 1943. It was a series of eight classes and four field sessions that began in February and ran until June. Unfortunately World War II ended his attempts to initiate a program, and it was not until 1950 that Warren Wilson picked up the effort. Son of a former Club president and chairman of the Climbing Committee which had been formed sixteen years earlier, Wilson resumed the efforts to bring formal climbing education to the Mazamas. Initially there were six classroom and eight field sessions. Attendance topped 150 participants. However, it wasn’t until 1956 that the program, as we would currently recognize it, finally emerged.

It was under the watchful eye of William (Bill) Oberteuffer that we finally got what might be considered the first truly “BCEP” program. It is impossible and unnecessary to recount the full richness and complexity of his life here. However, I would strongly recommend reading his biography, held in the Mazama library, titled, Gazing Down From The Mountain: The Story of William H. Oberteuffer. In the fall of 1937, at the age of eighteen, Oberteuffer rode on horseback from Portland to Tijuana, Mexico with his cousin Bob and friend Bud. They were only joined for part of it by Oberteuffer’s father. A decade later, he would begin a high school teaching career in science that would span 32 years. He once recounted about his teaching practice, “Always wishing to give my students the most say and being less than sure of my own rightness, I discussed with my class what the course structure might be for about a week. We eventually wound up with about 15 areas of possible study most of which fell within my area of expertise and were possible from the standpoint of time and materials. The students then voted on the 7 or 8 most popular suggestions and these then became our course content. (This is teaching democracy by doing it.)”

In the winter of 1969, Bill and his wife, Margaret, requested a sabbatical and spent nearly all of 1970 and 1971 backpacking around the world. His expansive climbing career had begun when he was in college. He once observed, “My professor had climbed so he loaned me his ice axe and crampons, and I climbed Mt. Hood with Margaret, Moshe Lensky, Dave Raffety, and Gil Staender (the godfather of Smith Rock) who was in high school, and was the guide ... On that first climb, Gil Staender taught us all self-arrest on the way up.” I note all of this because, as every BCEP student knows, the instructors—their stories, their personalities, and their lives—richly and fully define the experience of their students. It must have been astounding to learn under the watchful tutelage Oberteuffer.

As evidence of his diligence, the teaching notes from that first BCEP course are still in the archives and even include instruction on how to speak in a manner that is clear and effective during lectures. These sessions, held at the Oregonian Hostess House, began on April 30, and they culminated with a graduation climb of Mt. Hood on June 10 and an “examination” two days later at the Mazama club house. Topics for the dozen sessions would feel familiar to present-day BCEP students. Lectures included wilderness travel, equipment, snow climbing, glacier travel, weather, and rock climbing. As well, there was a presentation by a Dr. Charles Dotter on “Climbing Miseries,” which would prove to be surprisingly prescient given the events of the graduation climb. All of this, as well as a conditioning hike and outside rock practice, was coordinated under Oberteuffer’s leadership. Students were given all kinds of sage advice including this gem about nutrition on climbs: “Many persons are subject to an acid stomach during a climb. Avoid rich, concentrated, fatty foods (chocolate, nuts, etc.). Simple sugars are good because they digest easily and produce water during oxidation. Avoid eating snow or drinking ice water fast. Fresh grape-juice may be carried in your canteen. Suggestions for lunch: Two sandwiches (with lettuce), cookies, oranges, and candy (such as caramels or fruit lozenges).”

Enrollment was 447 students that first spring, and 28 Boy Scouts or Explorers and 11 Girl Scouts were in that first group. Perhaps these numbers were so high because enrollment was free to all who registered—500 would initially sign up—and the course was advertised in local high schools and colleges (note: Mazama Membership was 1,086 in 1956). Although Oberteuffer was never in the army himself, he took cues from the military when running field sessions where assistant instructors were managing between 80 and 130 students at a time. To do this, they wore colored arm bands so that the participants would know who to report to and when.

When the graduation climb came on June 10, there were 161 participants. Each had been provided with an equipment list of required gear: “Waterproof boots, nailed or heavy lug soles—no slick soles allowed. Adequate clothing (prepare for rain, intense sun, high wind, temperatures down to 25⁰, mittens, sun goggles, canteen, small packsack, woolen socks (plus extra pair), mountain lunch (from home), crampons (must fit properly), pocket mirror, ice axe, sunburn preventative, flashlight.” At the time, there were two primary places in Portland to procure the tools for mountain climbing—the Mountain Shop and the Beebe Company. The former still serves many of the same needs and customers; the latter still exists in Portland but now has a decidedly different clientele. Participants spent that night at the Mazama Lodge where dinner cost $1.20, the midnight snack was $.50, and lodging for members was $1.00 (an extra $.20 for non-members). The climbing fee itself was just $1.50, with some exceptions where it was only $1.00.

Only 11 participants summited that day, which seems like an appallingly poor success rate for the graduation climb of this first BCEP class. Oberteuffer’s notes provide a hint as to why. In his report filed after the climb, he noted of the weather: “Lighting, fog, hail, blizzard.” Undoubtedly it is forgivable that so many failed their first time. He also noted the following: “With 161 in the climbing party, we broke party into 2 separate groups with a leader and 3 assistants each. Then to ‘share the wealth’, the total ‘financial support’ due these 8 leaders was divided among 17 leaders and rope leaders who had participated generously in the climbing school.” It sounds like the philosophy that he espoused as high school teacher carried through to this moment as well. He allowed, perhaps even required, the students become the leaders and to own their experiences.

Later in life, Oberteuffer was asked if he had ever done anything wrong on a mountain. He recounted this very graduation climb on June 10 of 1956: “We divided up into two main groups, Erwin Reiger and I as main leaders. Weather deteriorated all the way up. We got to the lower hot rocks, where it was snowing hard. We should have gone down. I asked if anyone wanted to go to the summit under these conditions. Don Eastman wanted to go, Jim Craig, about 7 or 8 guys want to, so I said OK, and appointed a guy to go down with the others. Reiger also went down. Weather was bad at the base of Crater Rock, with stinging snow. We went up a new route around the end of the crevasse, the chute, didn’t sign the register, turned around and went down. I couldn’t see the crevasse but I sensed it, went around it, and got to the hot rocks. One guy had hypothermia, a husky, young fellow, not dressed properly, starting to stumble. Two folks took him and got him to a snowcat. All was OK, but it was something I didn’t need to do. It was a challenge I guess.”

For all those BCEP students who will be packing their packs this spring for their “real” mountaineering climb, I would encourage you to think about this first group. Consider the advice to add lettuce to your sandwich. Wonder at the hundreds of students who bought their first ice ax from the Mountain Shop. Compare the electrolytes that you may add to your water bottle against the grapefruit juice in their canteens. Continue to question your climb leaders about their lives and experience—and,yes, even their choices. And remember that, even in 1956, BCEP students were being reminded to make sure that their crampons fit properly before they left home.

Author Bio: Jonathan Barrett grew up in New England and moved to Oregon in 1997. He joined the Mazamas in 2007. When not working as a full-time language arts teacher at North Marion High School or being a father to a kindergärtner, he finds the occasional morning here and there to sneak up Mt. Hood, pull some plastic, or crank out a long run in Forest Park.

So You Want to Go Climbing?

It's April and that means it's time to start thinking about summer climbing. The summer climb schedule is posted now and climb leaders will continue to add climbs throughout the summer months. Now that you've perused the schedule, what does it take to get on a climb?

1. You need an Application for Climb Card, more commonly referred to as a Climb Card. Cards are $20 for members and $30 for nonmembers. You can order online, or just stop by the MMC and pick some up. 
2. Decide where you want to climb. 
• Never Ever: You've never been to the top of a mountain before? Start with our Hike to the Summit climbs (you'll notice a code (H) next to the grade). South Sister and Mt. St. Helens are two great intro climbs.
• Beginner: Are you new to climbing? Just getting the hang of crampons and ropes? Middle Sister, Unicorn Peak, Mt. Thielsen, Mt. Stone, Pinnacle Peak, and Mt. Adams are all perfect beginner climbs to put some of those skills to use without too high of a commitment level.
• Intermediate: You've learned the skills and now you need an opportunity to put them to use. Look to the C level climbs - Leuthold Couloir on Mt. Hood, the South Ridge on Jefferson, The Tooth, and Frostbite Ridge on Glacier Peak will give you a chance to test your skills and get a bit more technical.
• Advanced: You've got all the skills and have climbed a bunch. What a minute, why aren't you a Mazama climb leader leading your own climbs? Join in the fun on Sharkfin Tower, the North Ridge of Mt. Baker, the West Ridge of Stuart, the North Face of Vesper, or Forbidden Peak. You should find all of these routes to be a fun challenge.
3. Mail your climb card to the climb leader (not to the MMC!), making sure to fill it out completely including self-addressing the return card and including a stamp. The first day to mail them is April 15 - mailing cards on this date gives you the best chance of getting accepted.
4. Train: Climbing is a much more enjoyable experience if you are in shape. Head out to the gorge, take to your local running trails, hit the gym - whatever you do, just make sure you are fit enough for the climb.

That's all there is to it. Happy climbing!