On Mount Angeles

I had brought gear with me to do some climbing. More specifically, I was planning to climb Mount Angeles. It was a short hitchhike from the Hurricane Ridge visitor’s center to the Victor Pass trailhead. I had six hours before I was supposed to begin the drive back to T-town and the whole thing, I figured, probably wouldn’t take more than three.

Looking back on it now, the whole effort was doomed to fail, I just couldn’t see it at the time. The route was choked with heavy snow. Visibility was poor, and any views that could help me adjust my bearings or give me an insight into the best climbing line were completely obscured. Snow fell steadily throughout. I would have been much more comfortable had I stayed at Hurricane Ridge.

It is hard to know just where I turned around, but I have a feeling it was well below the summit. Hell, it was well short of the pass. I was still below treeline. I had climbed up some nameless gully, scrambling over icy holds and friable rock, until I had arrived at a 20-foot wall of stone that blocked any further progress. I looked half-heartedly for a route up the face, but with the dropping temperature and my turn-around time approaching, I didn’t look long.

I slid and scurried down the way I had come, hitched another ride back to Hurricane Ridge, and got the van opened up just as the first group returned. (It’s funny… I don’t remember anything about the people I had brought. I doubt they would remember me either.)