Dates: 5/19/23 - 5/22/23

Crew: Josh Geiser, Andrew Cox

Locations: Mt. Shasta, Shasta-Trinity NF, McArthur-Burney Memorial SP

Route Brief: https://www.shastaavalanche.org/general-route-description/avalanche-gulch

Andrew's Blog: https://backcountrysights.com/mount-shasta/

Trip Video: Working on it

Climbing Mt. Shasta via Avalanche Gulch

Facing the terrifying prospect of a whole 1 week of inactivity between my long work trip to Cleveland and my upcoming trip to Michigan and Olympic National Park, I was searching for a mountain to climb on the weekend in between. I approached and was simultaneously approached by Josh, who was on a similar hunt. He had been considering Shasta and I coincidentally had the very same idea in mind. When a mountaineering guide (that's Josh) asks if you want to climb a mountain with them, any mountain, you say YES. Josh's friend Andrew from JPL was in too, with the goal of ski mountaineering it. This meant Josh and Andrew would be skinning up on their touring skis and have the luxury of skiing from nearly the top all the way down to the car. I couldn't find a splitboard to use, didn't want to lug my full snowboard up, and wasn't about to try skiing for the first time here, so I was content to hoof it and find a slower way down. Before I go any further, it's my duty to inform you, reader, that Andrew has a much better website than me and I encourage you to go read his detailed and excellent writeup and photography at Backcountry Sights. For a decidedly mediocre writeup, you are in the right place. Scroll on!

With all the important logistics in place (mountain: Shasta, direction: up), the adventure begins.

The standard route up Shasta is Avalanche gulch. This route is tame for a glaciated Cascades stratovolcano, with the no actual glacier travel involved- just snowfields, rock and scree, and a bit of scrambling. This eliminates the need for climbing it as a rope team or bringing protection like screws or pickets. Just avalanche gear if you have it, mountaineering boots and crampons, and an ice axe. 

The route starts from the Bunny Flats trailhead at 6,950'. Most parties opt to go from here to the high camp at Helen lake, which is perched on a shelf at 10,400' beneath Avalanche Gulch itself. From there, the route ascends the gulch nearly straight up the snowfield which reaches angles up to 35 degrees, and then follows a ridge and series of talus fields to the summit at 14,179', with a glorious 9,772' of prominence.

The snow reached all the way to the parking lot, which was promising for the guys on skis. For me on foot, it just meant more slogging to add to the round trip. We got going, heading into the woods of lodgepole, ponderosa, and white pine. The shade of the woods was a pleasant relief from the burning late afternoon sun. As we broke out of the first stand of trees, Shasta rose high above us, showing our main route up the wide bowl.

Picking our way through the next stand of trees, we continued on a constant gradual incline. I was definitely feeling the altitude change from sea level that morning; heavy legs and a lot of effort to keep up with Josh and Andrew had me far more tired than I expected. It was only a couple miles up to horse camp but I was glad to throw off my pack when we set down at a site. For every graceful gliding stride the skiers took, I had to take 2-3 trudging steps as I sank into the snow they floated on top of. While the skins on their skis kept their forward progress intact, I slid back a few inches in the slush after every step. The extra effort compounded until I was really whipped.

In camp, we pulled out the avalanche shovels that Josh and Andrew had and dug out a sitting area to cook, as well as small "boot boxes" to make getting boots on from the door of the tent easier. Then we set up camp- Josh's tiny tiny tent for him and I, and Andrew with his own tent. Inspecting the route, we debated what to do about the rest of the climb. On one hand, we could try to go straight for the summit tomorrow. This would be 6,000 feet of elevation gain and a very long day. The alternative was to sleep in a bit, climb 2,500 feet to Helen Lake, camp there, and then climb the 3,500 feet to the summit on Sunday. To minimize risk, we chose option 2. After all, we were in no rush, and we wanted to ensure a summit.

Alpenglow in the evening air. Top left: the red bluffs, our eventual target. Others: glow on the rocky ridges buttressing our route.

After eating dinner, I went to investigate the Horse Camp cabin and find water. The cabin was impressively buried all the way to its roof in snow. I walked up onto the peak of the roof to get pictures of the mountains in the distance with an orange-gold glow over them. Then I followed the steps dug down to a running spigot under 10 feet of snow and checked out the cold, dark inside of the cabin. Then it was off to bed; I was a little scared of how tired the easy day one had me, but hoped I could sleep it off. Josh and I crawled into the coffin tent and found we were both stricken with an acute case of HAFE... truly a horrible ailment.

Buried horse camp cabin, viewed from our camp and with Shasta in the background.

We made good time, Josh and Andrew's skis getting good traction on the sticky snow and me slushing and sliding my way in generally the right direction. In the open with the sun blazing down though, the heat was no joke. In no time at all we were all down to just our base layers (sun hoodies) with hats, hoods, and sunglasses doing some heavy lifting in sun protection. After getting the bottom of my face scorched last year on Mt. Baker, I was prepared this time with a hip-holstered bottle of sunscreen to reapply every 20-30 minutes and a buff to cover my whole face anyways.

The slope continued to increase, going from 5 degrees up to maybe 20-25 throughout the morning. As the sun continued to mount overhead, the snow got slushier and wetter until I was pretty soaked from the knees down. Nonetheless we slogged on with nowhere to go but up and no shade in sight to help us out. The ridges on either side of Avalanche gulch stood imposingly and offered interesting photo subjects. Green butte ridge was on climber's right and Casaval ridge on climber's left. Josh and I had considered doing Casaval ridge and now saw some pretty insane portions of the ridge that were exhausting just to look at. We pushed on with our snow slog.

We reached Helen Lake camp before we knew it, and then the real test of the day began- the waiting. We didn't think we'd get here so fast or easily (2500 feet of gain, 2 miles, 2 hours) but didn't start early enough to consider going for a summit today. So with it not even noon yet, we plunked down in the flats of camp among the tents of people out for their summit bids, and had ourselves one hell of a hot nap. The best tent spots had already been picked, dug out, and had tents in them, so we figured we'd just wait for summiters to come down and then steal their snow platform to pitch in.

At about 2 pm the early summit crowd started to find their way down and we were able to secure our spots. Andrew set up his tent and retreated to the shade, and Josh and I set up our shared coffin and crawled in to nap, play on our phones, eat, and stare at the mountains.

It was brutally hot, even in the tent's shade with the door open for breeze. Finally at 6pm, the sun started to sink a bit and we emerged to get busy melting snow, cooking up dinner, and discussing plans for the morning. We plunked ourselves down around the dug-out snow box that we decided was the kitchen and sat on our pads and jackets, enjoying the air, the views, and the company.

As the sun started to set over Casaval ridge, I took a stroll around camp, saying hi to other climbers and admiring the alpenglow coating every rock surface and reflecting off the snow in oranges and pinks. A couple older guys commented on my Michigan hat, saying they were Purdue grads and we had a good chat about life in the midwest (and how much better it was here...). And of course, I took my camera to get my shots in.

There were rumors a bit of nasty weather might come during the night and we same some massive clouds pop up and move in as the night went on, but luckily the ridges steered the clouds off from us and we had a peaceful night. We decided based on how fast we moved today that we didn't need to get a true alpine start in the morning (2-3am, which most of the camp was planning for) and we'd be plenty fine to wake up at 4 and realistically start moving at 5am. Josh and I packed up for the morning and tucked into the tent. It was a pleasant night so we kept the door open to enjoy the evening views. It didn't take long after the sun faded away for me to get cozied deep into my sleeping bag and fall asleep.

 Josh lit the stove in our bootbox and boiled up water for oatmeal and coffee without ever having to leave the warm shelter. Finally, it was time to get ready. Grabbing my pre-loaded pack from the night before, I layered up, laced on my boots, and strapped on crampons. Stepping out of the tent, I was surprised at how not-utterly-freezing it was out. Once we got moving, it would be perfectly comfortable.

The playing field was also leveled a bit now- it was too steep and icy up Avalanch Gulch for skis, so all of us were in boots and crampons. Josh and Andrew strapped their skis to their packs, which added some weight, but they were climbing knowing they'd have the sweet relief of skiing down the whole mountain instead of plunge-stepping like me. By the time we turned around to head down, the snow would be in perfect corn (softened) condition for skiing, but also for me to plunge my way down in good time.

The next couple hours were monotony with a hint of leg burn. We zig-zagged our way up the icy slopes, using the sides of our crampons to gain purchase as we cut our back and forths to a steady beat. It was tough work, but with a water break every half an hour and snack break on the hours, we steadily ascended. My soft boots were much kinder on my feet here than the hard ski boots that Josh and Andrew were wearing. The gulch got gradually steeper the higher we got; as we approached the red banks at the top it was the 35 degrees the route brief had promised. This was genuinely steep! We had our crampons and ice axes to gain purchase, but it was so icy a fall and slide probably would have hurt a bit. Luckily we were all in control; one other climber did take a spill and a bit of a tumble past us, but was able to stop and get up, assuring everyone he was ok.

We'd passed almost everyone in sight during the 2500-ft climb, which fortunately meant we reached the boulder-strewn field beneath the red banks before the big traffic jam of climbers hit it. Picking through the fallen rocks on the narrow bootpack, we climbed up onto the ridge that makes up the banks and were rewarded by finally feeling the sun. The entire climbing route had been buried in shade and very cold in the biting wind. 

Josh carved himself a snow throne to sit in the sun and snack, while I dropped my pack and soaked up warmth. I took a few pictures now that the sun was able to keep my fingers alive, and had some food too. Andrew joined us and we rested a bit longer, watching the climbers below. Then we saddled back up and set off again. "Only" 1500 more feet to go, but the toughest part of the route still awaited.

To leave our resting spot we passed through a narrow gateway in the red banks, and found ourselves on the other side. After about a mile more of traversing, we were at the base of the scree field. A seemingly endless slope of loose gray rock awaited. Since there'd be no skiing down that, Josh and Andrew found a boulder to stash their ski gear behind to lighten their load for the rest of the climb.

The loose ground made this portion much less fun. With a narrow track beaten into it by thousands of boots, there was only one smart way to go, and it was a dusty, unstable way. We got into a queue with other climbers trapped on the same path, and trudged up the gray wastes for what seemed like forever (maybe half an hour). At the top, rock gave way again to snow and we were able to pick our pace back up. Cresting the scree pile, we could see the summit castle standing in the distance, with a small snowy valley separating us from it.

It was a strange feeling crossing the snowy saddle. After all the loose rock and with the imposing high bluff in front of us promising an exciting summit, we were alone in this small, strange oasis here at 14,000 feet. I call it a saddle, but it was probably the volcano's crater that we found ourselves in. The faint smell of sulfur hung in the air, and we dipped down out of the cutting wind for a reprieve. The snow was smooth and unbroken here, and there was no steep slope or crevasses to contend with; just a moment of peace to take in our surroundings.

Then we were on to the summit, heading up a narrow winding bootpack on the backside of the fearsome-looking rockpile that capped the volcano. It looked scarier than it was, and the couple hundred feet went down quickly. Then we were there, with a herd of other climbers hiding from the wind that had come back twice as strong since leaving the crater. It was incredibly cold up there, but I wasn't feeling the thin air at all. Waiting patiently while the people who beat us there took their turns making the small scramble to the exposed summit that had room for 1 or 2 people at a time, we warmed up and enjoyed the 360 degree view. In every direction you could see all the way out above the low puffy clouds that dotted the sky, and other stratovolcanos appeared north and south of us, part of the mighty chain that dominates the PNW.

Then Andrew, Josh, and I got our chance to take the scramble, while the others took pictures for us. It was secure and easy, but I still felt wary as I carefully placed my feet in the jagged rocks to stand up at the true summit, staring down at hundreds of feet of air in one direction and a clear view down to the crater in the other. It was exhilarating! And windy. We posed quickly and got back down to the sheltered side of the mountain to hide and enjoy the views.

Summit shots! Bottom left: gopro selfie. Others: Me posing atop the mountain (PC: Andrew).

Left: group picture near the true summit. Top Right: Josh on top of the world. Bottom Right: Andrew stands triumphant.

Then, with the joyful summit achieved, there was nothing to do but head back down. I kept my camera out until we reached the ski stash, getting last pictures before I put it away for the major descent down avalanche gulch. We carefully picked our way back down the steep and icy side of the summit castle, and back across the calm crater. Heading down and facing out, it was easier to appreciate the incredible views we'd earned. I could see Lassen Peak to the South and a beautiful snowy volcano to the north that turned out to be Mt. Mcloughlin, a 9,493' dormant stratovolcano about 100 miles from us in Oregon. I got a telephoto shot of it that ended up being one of my favorites of the day.

The loose scree was even less fun to go down than it had been up; every step ended in sliding and skating down showers of rocks and clouds of dust. When we reached the ski stash, Josh and Andrew were fully ready to be done with this plodding peasants method of descent. They strapped on their skis and set off, looking for the supposed skiers' right route that would give them a fun but safe descent back to our tents at Helen Lake. Watching them disappear over the snowy ridge, I was left to backtrack the way to the top of the red banks and then take the direct shot down. The snow was properly soft now, which was perfect for plunge-stepping for a quick descent, and I was able to get back across the banks in no time at all. Then I found myself staring down 2500 feet of vertical drop back to the tents far below. 35 degrees might not sound steep, but when you're trying to plunge down it with steps of faith into the loose snow below, it looks pretty darn steep. It didn't take much of that before I decided plunge-stepping could wait for later and found a seat to ready myself for glissading. 

Once I got the hang of glissading, I was cruising. I made it down to our camp in no time at all, and actually beat the skiers down. I repacked my gear to be ready for the remainder of the descent, and then lay down in the shade of Josh and I's tent to relax. After about 10 minutes, they skied up looking like they were having a hoot and a half. We broke down camp, ate a snack, and then the skiers set off zooming and I set off trudging.

Every mile or so, they would pull off to the side of the trail and wait for me to chug along and catch up, but generally I was pleased with how well I could keep up. I got in a rhythm of plunge-stepping and sliding a few feet with each plunge, and was able to keep a ton of momentum moving downhill without falling down (well, maybe a few times). As we descended we passed through thick clouds that then flowed into the basin and obscured our view of Shasta for most of the rest of the way. A few times a break came and we could see the massive face looming back over us.

At the bottom of the slopes, after passing back through horse camp where we spent our first night, the snow was a slushy mess and I was working hard to slog through it. Josh and Andrew pulled away once they were sure I wouldn't get lost, and I was left to appreciate the beautiful woods and lovely warm day until I got back to the car. Then we rapidly stowed all our climbing gear, threw on our clean clothes and lovely dry shoes, and were on our way back to the world. As we drove away East on highway 89 I turned around in the back seat and was floored by the view. Shasta rose for what seemed like forever above the 100-foot pines, with clouds billowing around the craggy summit. I ripped my camera back out of my pack and took a series of pictures through the dirty back windshield while bumping down the highway- proving once again that a shot from a moving car is sometimes the favorite one of an entire trip.

Burney Falls State Park

Not content to just climb a 14,000 foot mountain and call it a day, we looked furiously about for another adventure we could cram into the day. Despite wanting to go attack another mountain in Mt. Lassen National Park, we found out we were foiled with all the roads still closed from snow in late May! Instead, I found Burney Falls, a state park, world-famous waterfall, and National Natural Landmark. It was an easy detour on our way to grab a hotel in Redding, so Andrew routed us right there.

Called "the Eighth Wonder of the World" by President Theodore Roosevelt, the falls are "at their most intense ... during the spring, from early April through October, when snowmelt is at its peak" and we were in the midst of a historical snowfall and snowmelt year. Pulling into the park, we found a small round-trip hike awaiting us to see the falls from above and below. As you start the hike, you hear the falls long before you see them, then you catch a glimpse of them  through the pines, then you switchback down to the river level and suddenly you can feel the falls too. The dry, radiating heat coating everything up top melts away in a frigid mist constantly pouring off the falls. We clambered down to the water and it was beautifully cold.

Once up close, you could see how many tiny falls combine to form the width of Burney as a whole. Two main cascades bring down the water from the actual river above, but an equal amount pours out from tiny seepages in the wall, making a hanging garden of ferns and mosses that grow everywhere water comes forth. The lush green foliage was a sight to see after our day of whites and blues in the ice of the mountains.

After basking in the mist for long enough, we continued down the river until a crossing, and hiked back up on the other side of the falls. At the top, just yards from the plunge, a fly fisherman was standing in the river, pulling out trout like it was nothing, and then tossing them back in. All in all, an idyllic scene hidden from view. Well worth the detour or stop for anyone who finds themselves passing through NorCal.

Finally, it was time to rest and reset. We went to a hotel (Josh found a lovely "spa retreat" that was surely a romantic getaway place for the three of us) and showered, scavenged food, and had an early night's sleep.

On the flight home, I kept an eye out for the Sierras, knowing I was on the right (left) side of the plane now, and zooming all the way in on my camera did not disappoint. During the wettest spring in memory, the waterfalls were thundering down there and I could make out Yosemite falls, Bridalveil falls, El Cap, Half Dome, and the Yosemite Valley as a whole. I think I got a pretty good shot considering I was 30,000 feet above it and moving 500 mph!

On the way back we reversed our layover in San Diego and once again had to exit and re-enter security between gates. Josh was overly confident that his full nalgene would get through the scanner again so he didn't bother dumping it out, and this time they did catch it and make him get back in line. This was a moment of serendipity because as he stood in line, another traveler collapsed and Josh (an EMT) jumped in and did CPR until the airport paramedics got there... probably saving the man's life?

After the excitement of the climb and Josh being a literal hero, getting back to Houston was the usual bleak affair of stepping off into the swamp air and starting to plan the next adventure. Until then!