Climbing Broken Top

On the sixth day of the Cascade Expedition, I attempt Broken Top, which I've been informed, is a miserable mountain to climb. It's like Thielsen's bigger meaner brother. The only practical way to the summit is via the Northwest Ridge along a very narrow spine of rotten crumbling rock. Knowing this before I even begin, I decide to give it a try anyway.



I arrive at the Fall Creek/Soda Creek trailhead in the Three Sisters Wilderness early in the morning. There is no snow on northwest ridge route right now, so I pack light and move fast. The climb starts with a four mile approach up Fall Creek through some of the most beautiful wilderness I've ever seen. After a solid hour or more of blazing up the popular trail past several wildflower filled meadows, I arrive at Green Lakes, a group of glacial fed lakes nestled in between South Sister and Broken Top. South Sister is dramatically poised behind the lakes. It is unclear how to to proceed toward Broken Top. I can see it looming large to the East, but cannot find an approach trail. I decide to head across open country toward an obvious saddle in the ridge from which I can stage my final ascent. I find a tiny glacial stream and follow it uphill, north toward the saddle. I follow this little stream to the spot where it begins from a large house sized block of snow. As I get close to the bottom of the saddle climb, I pick up a climbers trail and use it.



I reach the saddle. From here, I have amazing views of the Three Sisters Mountains, and Green Lakes below. I can also see Mt Washington, Three Fingered Jack, and Mt Jefferson to the north. The ridge route to the summit is narrow, long, and very rotten, just as advertised. I seem to be the only human interested in this climb today. I slowly work my way up the spine. The rock is absolutely horrible. I thought Mt Thielsen was bad until I came here. I accidentally trigger a couple of small rockfalls off the north side of the ridge as I try to negotiate this route. I stop frequently to test rock and marvel at the views. After much effort, I ascend to a point about half way between the saddle and the summit. As I look up, all I can see is steeper sections, some with small rotten walls which must be circumvented on tiny rotten ledges. On top of it all is a summit block which I am not looking forward to.



I finally reach a point beyond all ground vegetation. I'm only several hundred feet from the summit now, but it still looks menacing due to the instability of the terrain and the high exposure. I reach a block with two options. One is to skirt the block to the north on a ledge about twelve inches wide, and the other is to climb the vertical block of rotten rock. In a decisive moment, I choose option three, abort the summit. I turn back in disgust. As I start down the ridge, I look outward and take in some of the best views of Three Sisters that I've ever seen. I realize that the forest below, Green lakes, and these views are what this climb is all about, not bagging the summit. I sit on a little flat ledge for a long time and try to process the grandeur that is spread out before me. Almost a dozen volcanos bless my view, each with many snow fields and ridges, each of those with many foothills, each of those with countless trees. Beyond all this, an infinite sea of trees blankets the horizon, fading into the atmospheric haze. Above is another world with clouds and penetrating endless blue, fading to the horizon. The detail is fractal-like. Each large form is comprised of an incredible number of small worlds that are in turn comprised of yet smaller worlds.



Descending the spine is tedious but not nearly as bad as climbing it. I reach the saddle, and follow the climbers trail all the way down to learn where it meets the main trail. Turns out, it was only a quarter mile past where I had decided to go cross country on the ascent. As I pass Green Lakes, I encounter a couple of backpackers. They ask where I'm coming from since I don't have a full pack on, am pretty far out, and am heading toward civilization not away from it. I tell them about my climb, pointing up to the spot where I turned around on the ridge. We chat for a while, then I follow the creek from Green Lake all the back to the trailhead. I'd like to revisit Broken Top someday, but only with some climbing company and some rope. And even then, I think it's pretty far down on my list of friendly mountains...

Climbing Middle Sister

On the seventh day of the Cascade Expedition, I wake up in Bend, Oregon and hit the road at 6am. By 7:30 I have driven all the way around the north side of the Three Sisters Wilderness and am at the Obsidian Trailhead on the East side of the wilderness. I obtained a permit to camp in this limited access area last night, but didn't get back from my Broken Top climb early enough to make the drive. Plus, the temperature has been hovering around freezing at night, making it difficult to get excited about camping here.

Because of it's regulated access, the Obsidian trail feels quite remote. I begin the long approach hike through four miles of dense forest toward timberline as the morning sun slowly starts to creep over the high peeks to the east. About one mile into the hike, I hear a grunt and the snapping of twigs. I look over and see a full grown black bear galloping about thirty feet from my trail! It's running parallel with me but in the opposite direction. It seems we have startled each other. I have an excellent profile view of this bear running, and at full stride, I'm impressed by its size. It stops about fifty feet downhill from me. I am both exhilarated and terrified. I've never encountered a bear in Oregon. I was beginning to wander if they even inhabited these parts. My initial impulse is to abort the climb and call it a day. With large beasts roaming around, I feel like I have no control over this situation anymore. But the bear is between me and the way down now. The only logical solution is to keep going up.

I spend the next hour hiking with a white knuckled grip on my ice axe, and I bang my car keys against the axe shaft every few seconds to let the forest know I'm coming. I finally reach tree break and lava fields. I scurry along this terrain for another thirty minutes, passing a creek, one tent, and two hikers. As I tell them of my bear encounter, they seem a little aloof, and I realize that I should probably put my ice axe away now. They begin to warm up and we discuss a couple of trail junctions and our respective destinations. I continue onward. The trail I'm on eventually ends at a T junction with the north/south Pacific Crest Trail. I study my topo map for a solid ten minutes, trying to figure out the best way to go, then realize that I just need to keep heading east over the open grassland. There is a small narrow unmarked trail leading off through a meadow. I deduce that this is the climber's trail. I've realized on this expedition that climbing trails are rarely marked or represented on topo maps on less popular mountains, but I'm getting better at finding them as I search for ways to get up the mountains instead of circumnavigating them like most trails do.



I follow a small footpath through fields of wildflowers and along a glacier fed creek for a while, and the summits of North Sister and Middle Sister reveal themselves. They still look so far away. I have a lot of work ahead of me. My first goal is to reach the saddle between the two 10,000 foot peaks. I could travel up one of the glaciers, but they seem atrophied and fragmented by the summer heat. It's not clear to me which glacier to take. I decide to climb on a rock ridge between two glaciers all the way to the saddle, to keep from having to mess with crampons.

The ridge route is tedious. It consists of large piles of volcanic rock, each about two to four feet in diameter, precariously stacked. These rock piles are hundreds of feet tall. Each time I summit a pile, another larger and steeper pile is revealed that I must climb. The volcanic rock is razor sharp. I barely brush my knee against one, and it draws blood. I spend a solid hour negotiating this ridge, stopping to catch my breath, and kicking myself for not choosing a snow ascent. But I've committed to this route and will see it through.



Finally, I reach the saddle. It consists of more large piles of volcanic rock. To the left looms the summit of North Sister, and to the right, Middle Sister. I work my way right along the saddle. I begin climbing the ridge that leads to Middle's summit. To the left is a sheer drop off of over a thousand of feet. To the right is a steep scree slope that plunges into Renfrew Glacier. This ridge is slow going. It's hard to see the best route from below. I'm trying to keep a safe distance from the left edge, but this pushes me into the steep scree, which is difficult to maintain traction on. I use my ice axe, plunging the handle into the scree, and it it sinks all the way to the axe head. I can't find a single solid rock to grab onto. I keep scrambling upward until I finally get a solid grip on the ridge line. Once on top of the ridge, I carefully make my way up, adjacent to the western headwall, and the abyss below. It takes a little less than an hour at this pace to reach summit at high noon.





The views at the summit are amazing. North Sister is in my face. I can see the route to it's summit, and it looks menacing. Beyond that, I can see Mt. Washington, Three Fingered Jack, Mt. Jefferson, and Even Mt Hood. South Sister, Broken Top, Chamber Lakes, and Mt Bachelor are all visible to the South. Middle Sister truly is smack dab in the middle of it all. I am alone up here. I seem to be the only human above timberline on Middle Sister today! It's such a different feeling than the popular South Sister climb I did last year. My stay at the summit is brief. I chug some water and eat some carb gels, photograph the views, and scout a good snow route to descend. From up here I can see the correct ridge route down to the saddle, and Renfrew Glacier looks like the perfect super highway to timberline.





After many questionable route finding decisions on the ascent, I now have a clear view from above of the best route down. I descend the summit ridge, then strap on my crampons and fly down Renfrew Glacier in giant strides, plunging my ice axe handle as I go for extra support. The descent goes very quickly. I am able to stay on snow most of the way. Only one section of the glacier is steep enough to require extreme caution. Once I reach the bottom of the glacier, I pop off my crampons and head toward the main trail. I complete the final four miles back to the car on the Obsidian trail. Along the way I pass four rangers that are coming up with large hand saws. They are clearing the trail of fallen trees. I tell them about my bear encounter. They are excited, and tell me that I'm lucky. Sighting a bear is very rare, and usually even then, they are running away as fast as possible. It sounds like my encounter was a rare and positive event, not a negative or dangerous one. I feel good about traversing this forest alone now, and I see my bear encounter in a totally different light.

I reach my car nine hours after starting the climb. I realize that I'm totally spent, not just for the day, but for the week. I feel my expedition coming to an end. I can't think of a better way to wrap up this adventure than by climbing Middle Sister and experiencing all that I did on this beautiful summer day in the Cascade Mountains. Tomorrow I will head back to Portland and I will try to bring some of this exceptional place back with me. But more than likely, some of me will forever remain behind, waiting...