Overnight, the weather worsened. Silence gave way to a faint hiss, then to the distinct patter of rain on the tent fly. It went on quite continuously all night - sometimes a little harder, sometimes a little softer. It wasn't stormy - there was at most a light breeze - but it was definitely wet. And, although it was dark and I was inside the tent, we were pretty sure that solid cloud surrounded us.
The rain had started the evening before (fortunately after we had finished eating). We had agreed that if it was still raining in the morning, we'd sleep in and re-assess as time progressed. Since it was now morning and the rain had not stopped, we stayed snug in our sleeping bags and caught a few more Zs.
Mr. Connell Sleeps In
By 9 a.m., I had had enough. I'd been in my sleeping bag for twelve hours - a long stretch for me - and I was getting restless. It was still drizzling out very lightly, perhaps trending towards stopping, but hard to say. I got out to have a look around.
Gloomy Morning
As expected, clouds. Dreary and wet. Because of the cloud and mist, I could see none of the more distant scenery, and the scene of our two little tents in a wet, barren wasteland next to a dull-colored lake could have easily stood in for the far arctic tundra. Desolation and gloominess.
Little helmet pond
By this point it felt like the summit might be slipping from our grasp. We'd been ok with sleeping in a bit and waiting it out, given that we were only perhaps 7-ish km (4 miles) from the summit. We were even ok with arriving back late at our campsite - even in the dark. So far, though (9 a.m.), visibility was poor and it continued to lightly rain. Hardly an incentive to start climbing. Our hope for sun and clouds - the original forecast for this area during our trip, was fading.
courtesy BConnell
Morning at Campsite
Just as we were giving up hope entirely, the rain stopped, and the cloudy sky brightened significantly. By 10:00, I could definitely see the semi-obscured disk of the sun high above, and a few patches of blue appeared here and there. Normally I would consider this sort of weather to be grounds to abort any regular day hike I was on, but up here, in the middle of a committed multi-day climb, and after enduring the long night of grey and rain - it looked invigorating. We shook Brian out of his continuing slumber and made ready to depart by 11 a.m.
Happily, the weather did continue to improve. There were still lots of big fluffy clouds floating around, mostly obscuring views, but it was a lot brighter and it was sunny more often than not. In fact, we even decided that we should put sunscreen on, so that should give you an idea of our level of optimism.
Shortly after 11 a.m., we trudged out of camp, headed northeast along the lakeshore. With a nice packed layer of gravelly scree beneath our feet, it was pleasant and easy going.
We knew we had to head roughly northeast, but the way was not precisely clear. We had heard tell of a "ramp" of sorts that would help us gain direct access to Glacier Gap, but between the clouds, the lack of snowfields, and the reduced ice extent of the White Chuck Glacier, it was hard to map what we'd seen in pictures and on our maps to what was in front of us.
courtesy BConnell
Towards White Chuck Glacier
We angled up towards the toe of the White Chuck glacier, crossing several melt streams and erosional gullies. According to our topo maps, we were already well onto the glacier itself, but around us was just boulders and gravel. The glacier was long gone from here!
courtesy BConnell
courtesy AHyndman
courtesy BConnell
Wouldn't wanna get caught in there
After winding around meltwater ponds and various small obstacles, we arrived at the current position of the toe of the White Chuck Glacier.
A bit more debating about our route ensued, and ultimately, we chose to explore a diagonal feature immediately nearby that indeed looked like it could harbor a ramp up through some cliffy terrain.
A bit of climbing up some loose scree and it became clear that this was indeed the ramp described in the various reports - a broad, perhaps 20-yard wide concave ramp of terrain that led up to the north, steep rock uphill on the right, and a small lip followed by a dropoff on the left.
Happy to have discovered the right way, we stopped for our lunch break. Having started so late in the day, lunch had come early.
A short and easy walk up the nicely-packed dirt that floored the ramp brought us to a high shoulder looking down on another large basin. At the head of this basin, right on the divide of the major ridgeline descending from Glacier Peak, was the saddle known as Glacier Gap. Between us and the Gap was a sloping sliver of Glacial Ice - a disjoint remnant of the once much large White Chuck Glacier, which used to fill (at least according to our topo maps) the entire basin before us.
The most logical path from our high shoulder to Glacier Gap was to make a descending traverse across this remnant of glacier, trying not to lose too much elevation. The remnant was largely inert and likely didn't sport any crevasses, but half of it was exposed (i.e. not covered with snow), and that meant we needed our crampons.
courtesy BConnell
Crossing Glacier Fragment
After carefully crunching our way across the glacial sideslope, we transitioned back to gravel and scree, and climbed a short slope up to the wide saddle of Glacier Gap. It had discouragingly taken us three hours to get here from camp - not a particularly fast pace!
Glacier Gap
We stopped here for another rest and snack break, and took stock of our surroundings. The saddle was wide and flat in many places, making it a decent spot to set up camp. Previous climbers had built short, curved windbreaks out of stones to shield tentsites, and we crouched behind one of these as we rested and ate. The patchy blue and occasional sun of mid-morning had mostly gone away, replaced by low, scudding clouds and a chill wind. Visibility had reduced to perhaps a half-mile all around us, and still no views of Glacier Peak itself. At least it wasn't raining.
GG Rest Stop
The re-deterioration of the weather was generally demoralizing. However, we figured that if we'd come to this point, we might as well continue on and see how far we could climb. Perhaps some miracle of clearing would manifest itself, or we somehow would climb above the clouds. Or something.
So, after gathering ourselves up at Glacier Gap, we continued on. Routefinding was now a bit simpler, since we knew that for the next while, all we had to do was follow the crest of the main ridgeline coming down from Glacier Peak.
Some faint but quite discernable paths led up the steep gravel on the north side of Glacier Gap. From there we crossed onto a large snowfield - only the second snow our boots had touched for the entire day. A short, steep snow descent led to more bare ground and the continuation of the footpath.
The bare crest of the south ridge led upward after this point, eventually disappearing into the clouds. There was a thin bit of soil and some scrubby plant life on the ridgecrest, resulting in a fairly fine-grained, stable and smooth surface underfoot. Additionally, there was a very nice well-defined little footpath along here. This was quite pleasant, and made for easy and relatively rapid hiking - the best since leaving the Foam Creek Trail the day before.
courtesy BConnell
For a while, the weather held. Occasionally the clouds would lift and clear a bit, giving us some quite nice views to the east, primarily into the headwaters basin of the Suiattle river and its namesake glacier.
Inevitably, though, these little clearer periods would end, and a thick bank of cloud would re-envelop us.
courtesy AHyndman
First bits of Gerdine Glacier
