Graham Gephart Photography & Writing Blog

For Lulu and me, our volcano interest began in 2010 on a climb and ski of Washington’s Mt Shuksan. Though technically not a volcano. Shuksan’s rugged approach and big vertical (almost 7500′ by our route up the White Salmon Glacier) has all the feel of the Pacific Northwest’s volcanic peaks… usually requiring the willingness to sleep at a trailhead, wake up for a headlamp-powered alpine start, slog extra miles on access roads, do a little bushwhacking, climb 6000-8000′ in a day, bring some technical gear (sometimes), and plan it all on a pretty narrow spring weather window. What sealed it for Lulu, though, was the fact that you can see the volcanoes from just about anywhere in the state. It’s always cool to look up, and know that you’ve been on top of a dominating peak and skied an interesting line off it of.

In spring 2011, Lulu was sidelined with a torn ACL, ending her season in April. My own chances at volcano skiing were hampered by work travels and a winter that never really quit, until July came around. With spring snow just coming into season in July and a weather window following a K2 ski test in Oregon, Darrin Haugen and I decided to quick-hit the southern volcanoes, skiing Mt Hood (11,250′) and Mt Adams (12,280′) back to back in a big end of season push.

Feeling strong coming off our Europe tour, we’ve felt pretty motivated this spring as the snowpack has steadily started consolidating into a smooth corn cycle. High temperatures last weekend forced us to pull the plug on plans to ski El Dorado, so the energy was running pretty high to try and ski Mt Baker (10,781′) when the forecast looked good for Saturday. Frequent ski partner Charlie Lozner joined Lulu and me, and former coworker Joe Erfle joined us as the plan came together.

It seemed pretty straight forward. After a relatively comfortable couple hours’ sleep in Charlie’s Eurovan on the access road, we quickly ate a 3:30am breakfast and geared up, skinning up the unplowed access road a couple miles below the Heliotrope Ridge trailhead by headlamp. The map shows our climb on the right line, up the summer trail to the Coleman Glacier, then up through a col to the Deming Glacier and the Roman Headwall, finally putting us on the summit after 8,000′ of climbing over almost 7 miles.

Clear, starry skies gave way to warming sunlight, but the temperatures stayed low throughout the morning. Breaking out of the trees, we found very firm conditions on the Coleman Glacier. Above, Joe Erfle starts up the Coleman, with the Roosevelt Glacier in the background. Our pace felt good, and we took our time knowing that we wouldn’t be racing rising temperatures for good skiing conditions on the descent.

Charlie Lozner with Mt Baker rising high above the glacier. It seemed like miles and miles away (and it was), but we were headed for the col between Baker and Colfax Peak on the right, then up the ridgeline to the summit of Baker.

Navigating some icefall off Colfax Peak, with the Roman Wall finally starting to get closer… and bigger. Not a day of solitary backcountry skiing, but just ahead of us were a couple other parties, including Chris Davenport’s Ring of Fire group that was trying to summit 14 of the California, Oregon, and Washington volcanoes over 18 days. It was pretty cool to hear a little about their journey as he wrapped up the final climb.

Hitting the col around 11am, we took a little longer to rest and refuel, with the last push of the climb, the steep Roman Wall looming above us. The sun was getting stronger, but the snow was still firm, and we were in no rush. Now up at 9,000′, the pace slowed down a bit as we put on crampons and started up, one step at a time, to the summit plateau.

Joe Erfle approaching the summit plateau, with the vast Deming Glacier spread out below him.

A quick skin across the plateau put us on top of the summit knob, and with brilliant sunshine and only the slightest breeze, we took a while to rest up and soak in the sunshine. Joe and I both napped for a short stretch, then we melted some snow to replenish our water supplies and prepped gear for the descent. The feeling of sitting up on top is hard to describe… like climbing to the top of the tallest tree around and looking down on everything else. Even looking over at Shuksan, which had felt so big two years ago, now felt somewhat small off a few ridges away. And being able to share this climb and ski with Lulu, back so strongly this year after her knee surgery, was an incredible joy.

Kicking off the top just after 3pm, the upper pitches of the Roman Wall were just starting to soften up, making for fun skiing. Looking down below, our route stretched out forever, with miles and miles of turns all the way back to the car.

Lulu with the huge expanses of the Coleman Glacier and Heliotrope Ridge extending below her turns on the Roman Wall. We would ski all the way over the ridge to the upper right, then drop almost 3,000′ down a canyon to Grouse Creek and the trailhead exit.

A lasting memory of the day, the ski from Heliotrope Ridge down to Grouse Creek included some of the best corn snow I’ve ever skied. Perfectly smooth, steep, and filled with fun, undulating rollovers, the expansive bowls and canyons made for an exhilarating and effortless descent. With a direct shot back to the trailhead that avoided our 5am sketchy creek crossing, all that remained was a short glide out the snowy road, linking together patches until the snow finally ran out only 500′ from the car. It’s hard to match the feeling of elation, accomplishment, and exhaustion that comes with the close of day like this, when you finally splash a little water on your face, crack open a beer, trade ski boots for flip flops, and hang around in the woods with good friends reminiscing on the day that just was.

There will be so much more to post from this trip, but Lulu and I just wrapped up two weeks of travel and skiing through Europe for a well-deserved vacation after an action-packed year. To spend 13 of 14 days outside in the mountains was like feeling the layers of stress peel off, one at a time. All we wanted to do… explore European mountain towns, ski and climb until we couldn’t any more, and eat as much delicious food as possible.

Landing in Geneva, we set off on a week of skiing around the classic resorts of the Alps, in Chamonix, Verbier, and Zermatt, then moved eastward into Italy for a week of backcountry skiing in the Ortler Alps, all in the company of a rotating cast of friends that joined us for different sections.

So much more to come, so for now, the clouds at dusk playing on the rugged peaks above Chamonix…

Sometimes the most rewarding lines are the elusive ones right in your back yard. A couple years ago, I had a short piece published in Powder Magazine’s Morpheme essays on the value of those local roadside attractions. It was just after arriving in Seattle, and while it was written with a few Tahoe places in mind, there was one Washington line that definitely came to symbolize the piece. After looking at the North Couloir on McClellan Butte for 5 years, every trip up and down Snoqualmie Pass, the conditions, weather, and group came together to give me a crack at skiing.

Day breaks early on a Friday morning in March over Snoqualmie Pass, Washington. With a redeye Friday night back to Boston for my little sister’s wedding, and our ski trip to Europe only a week away, this was the last chance to get out locally for a really long stretch. Conditions turned out to be perfect… recent snow over the past couple days to low elevations, but with a relatively stable interface between the new and the old layers.

After a couple false starts to the morning – digging out a stranger’s car at the trailhead and mistakenly climbing part of the wrong chute – we traversed our way into the heart of the north couloir. About as relaxing as coming into the barrel of a gun, the chute climbs steeply, with sheer walls on both sides.

We switched to bootpacking as the snow got deeper and the slope got steeper. It was a wallow, and our pace slowed past the original turnaround point to get into the office before 9:00am. It would be a late night working to catch up, but the line was in incredible condition. A few more minutes later, and we topped out at the upper reaches of the open slab, looking down on a powdery heaven below us. Steep, direct, and filled to the brim with light powder, the line was far better than I ever could have imagined. How good? I’ll let Eben’s first turns do the talking…

Our local ski area, Alpental, wound up right in the crosshairs of a big snowstorm last weekend. With local convergence centered right over Snoqualmie Pass, it started snowing hard on Friday night, and didn’t let off until well into Sunday. By the time the storm ended, our hill had received almost 40 inches in 36 hours.

The Sunday timing was perfect for a ski photography clinic that I’d signed up for as part of Outdoor Research‘s VertFest. While Lulu spent the morning working on steep skiing techniques, I went out with professional photographer Grant Gunderson and Outdoor Research ski athletes Zack Giffin and Molly Baker to get tips and techniques from the pros. Hearing Grant’s input on metering and composition was awesome, and the perfect conditions let Zack and Molly go after just about every feature in sight, putting on a show for us.

Here are a few of the highlights from the day:

Zack Giffin boosts a small pillow in the old growth trees outside Alpental.

Zack sends the pillow for a tree-tap backflip on his second attempt of the morning.

Molly Baker busting through the deep trees.

Zack finds a nice spine on the lower mountain.

Smooth, floaty 360 over classic Alpental terrain.

Molly reaping the rewards of the weekend.

Zack launches through the snowy pines.

More snow on tap for this weekend. Now time to get a little more practice in and maybe tune up the gear before we take our ski trips to Jackson and Europe this spring. In the meantime, enjoy…

The winter roadshow started this week. After a dry winter so far, I boarded a plane Monday morning for Salt Lake City, and soon Denver, where snow has been sparse. Like clockwork, the PNW wound up square in the sights of a big line of winter storms that have started to deliver the mid-winter powder cycle.

This is the busy stretch, both for personal life and work. My ski season goes on pause for a month or so here, while I travel with my team to tradeshows in SLC and Denver, introducing new 2012-2013 products from my brands, then continues through grassroots events that we have built up, like the Tubbs Romp to Stomp Out Breast Cancer Snowshoe Series. It’s a long stretch, and always hard to get in the relaxation, skiing, home chores and everything else I want to get done in the week or weekend before leaving. This year was no different, but the weekend was at least a success, with a wonderfully slow Saturday followed up by a great day of skiing at Alpental on Sunday.

The big snows weren’t forecast until later in the week, but Lulu, Chris and I made the best out of 7″ of new on Sunday. With firm boilerplate under the new snow, especially on steeper rollovers, the lines of the day were the ones that snaked through Alpental’s myriad gullies and hard to access areas. Once the backcountry gates opened, the snow got deeper and deeper, with another 4-5″ snowing on us over the course of the day.

I couldn’t have imagined a better way to wrap up at home before the long roadtrip. While packing late at Sunday night was a challenge (I almost forgot to pack pants, seriously), the feeling of a good powder day will stay with me for this stretch. Hard to capture all in words, but below is a quick pic I snapped of Lulu, making a couple steep turns in the Alpental BC before dropping into a thigh-deep gully.

I hope my WA friends get out in all the new snow over these next couple days and enjoy it for me. More travel photos from the tradeshows to come soon…

While we’ve camped on the coast and explored a bit in the Olympic Mountains, we haven’t really seen any of the Hood Canal area, tucked on the Puget Sound side of the peninsula. So this past weekend, we roadtripped out from a gloomy forecast of rain and drizzle with friends Ben and Corey, riding the ferry across the Sound to Dosewallips State Park. With a reservation for one of the park’s three canvas-walled platform tents, the rainy forecast did little to discourage our “camping” plans. A quick tarp build later, and we had a veritable cabin in the outdoors, and an awesome fall weekend to spend it in.

The breakfast of champions – egg and cheese sandwiches, accompanied by oatmeal cookies with Nutella and bananas. In desperate times, we improvised a coffee filtering system with a bandana and our camping mugs. It also turns out that when you go camping in a platform tent, you don’t really bring any less than usual… in fact, likely more.

Fall in the PNW is rich, but in a different way from the foliage of New England. Wandering the back roads reminds me of VT’s orange/yellow/red maples lining dirt roads, but here the bit of yellow blends in with ten different kinds of green. It’s amazing that in the waning season of the Northwest that everything can look so brilliant. Maybe it’s the sudden contrast of a little yellow thrown in, or just that the shine of a little rain makes it all seep with richness. Either way, with hardly a bit of sun, it was still a stunning weekend in the forest.

Taller trees sporting their mossy sweaters, with thick ferns and soft benches in the undergrowth. Every inch is covered in plant life in the Olympics. While the Hoh Rainforest on the other side of the peninsula is better known for it, everything in the Dosewallips area was teeming with moss, ferns, you name it.

Lulu, Corey, and Ben admiring the old growth on the Maple Valley Trail.

A single bright tree shows a little reflection on an otherwise overcast morning on the Dosewallips River. It’s only a matter of time until winter starts to firm its grip!

Camping and hiking on the coast in Washington is one of those experiences that sounds amazing, but the reality of coastal rainforest often leaves a soggier reality. Planning a free weekend with friends more than a month out, we would’ve taken any weather we got, but it was a supremely pleasant surprise to get one of the nicest weekends of the summer for a backpacking overnight in Olympic National Park. With Lulu still rehabbing her new knee, we settled on the easy access of Third Beach with the ability to hike further over the weekend.

Looking back at Seattle from the Bainbridge ferry on Friday afternoon. While we cruised across the Sound, the advanced team snagged a camp site in Forks for an early jump Saturday morning.

The crew en route to Third Beach in Olympic National Park: Roger, Phil, Mike, Shannon, Shelley, Lulu, and Wren. The NPS ranger asked if we were going for a couple nights. Nope, just packing a lot of toys. While the surfboard didn’t see any use, just about everything else did.

The hike in went quickly, and we lucked into a group packing up on the prime site on the beach. A quick drop of gear to hold the site, and we continued on over the next headland to explore further for the day.

The headland crossings in the Olympics can be interesting, but with mostly dry trails things went pretty smoothly for Lulu and her new ACL. I wouldn’t want to work up and down some of the steep cliffy sections in the rain, although ropes left along stretches are certainly meant to make things a little easier.

The rest of the morning we explored the beaches further south toward Scotts Bluff, relaxing for some lunch, building sand castles, and catching more sun than we’ve had for a lot of the summer. Temps were in the mid-high 70s, with no clouds and no wind… a whole different world from the other times we’ve been out to the coast. I could’ve just as likely needed a shell or warm jacket for hanging around other summer days.

Our prime campsite… big enough for a group of 8, perfect log counter for cooking, nice firepit, and secluded spot out of sight from all the other camps on the beach. With crashing surf, we couldn’t hear another group. Fun for the afternoon: slackline, yoga, frisbee, football, and more. Bringing the beach slackline was an excellent idea, as Shelley demonstrates above.

Time for dinner, prepping a big meal of burritos for eight. Perfect spot to enjoy the meal, and watch the sun dip below the headland to the north, pink evening glow cast warmly on the sea stacks.

The fire burnt bright, and we passed marshmallows, s’mores, and the flask of Scotch around the ring. I hadn’t seen the stars so bright in a long time, letting us trace the Milky Way across cloudless skies all the way down to the horizon where the bits of light met a dark sea. As a shooting star trailed downward toward the water, I couldn’t help but think we stumbled onto the winning ticket for a Washington weekend.

When Seattle summer weather falters, the only thing to do is make a run for the East side of the Cascades. Usually enough to brighten up an outdoor weekend with warmer temps and more sun, we got part of the bargain this time around. A full campground late Friday night had us pull the familiar routine of roadside guerilla camping Friday night, followed by scoring the only tent site to open Saturday morning in Owhi campground. Chance of showers became definite rain, and we did tarp construction to be proud of. The sun finally came through on Saturday afternoon for a little bit, allowing some exploratory hiking and a bit of fishing, but overall just a nice, relaxing weekend hanging out outdoors with friends – listening to the rain patter, smelling the pines, watching the camp fire, making s’mores, sleeping soundly in the tent.

1 tarp, 1 rope, 2 kayak straps, 2 miscellaneous straps, 1 hiking pole, 1 dog leash = sturdy shelter all weekend!

Basil enjoying what dogs enjoy most. Photo by Lulu.

Graham fishing the Cooper River - beautiful water, but not a hit. Photo by Lulu.

Good times, good friends, good beers.

Mount Adams (skiing the volcanoes, continued)

After a successful climb and ski of Mount Hood on Friday, Darrin and I stocked up at the K2 house on a ton of leftovers, breakfast and lunch supplies, water, and hit the road for the Trout Lake USFS Ranger Station. Pulling into the lot around 9:30, we certainly weren’t the only ones thinking about the amazing amount of snow and the excellent weather forecast; at least 5 or 6 other cars pulled up while we went about filling out our own backcountry permits to climb the next day. After setting up a quick camp on the side of the access road, we set an early alarm to repack our bags and hit the trail early.

With down tress and snow still blocking the road down low, we put on tennis shoes and shouldered packs weighed down with skis and boots. Hitting the trail at 6:30am, we made quick progress of 2.5 miles up the road to the Cold Springs campground, where we transitioned into ski boots and starting skinning on (mostly) continuous snow. Through the trees, the flanks of Mount Adams began to appear high above us, and the scope of the day’s work became obvious.

Darrin breaking out of the trees, looking up at another 5,000' to go.

The second-tallest peak in Washington, Mount Adams is a slog. I knew that ahead of time, but it’s hard to think of much else when you’re hours into the approach and can still see so much looming overhead. It’s inspiring and disheartening, all at the same time. Still, the weather waas beautiful, and in spite of concerns about how we might navigate 12″ deep runnels and sun cups down low, we pressed on at a decent pace.

Looking back down the South Face of Adams, Mount Hood shining in the distance after the previous day's climb and ski.

On a big day like this, it’s important to keep fueling constantly, whether you feel hungry or not. Occasional breaks and snacks break up the climb and keep the energy stores from running too low. Having spent the previous three mornings ski testing and having climbed and skied Mount Hood the day before, energy conservation would be important. Darrin set a perfect pace heading up Adams, and we found some ideal places to relax for breaks, including a catnap on the Lunch Counter rocks for 10-15 minutes below the South Face.

Mount Saint Helens rising to the west, another volcano in the range.

Skinning eventually turned too steep as the snow softened, then began its transition to wet slush, and we switched to crampons for easier climbing. One step, two, three, four, counting out each one. My pace slowed as we hit 10,000′, and then 11,000′. The false summit slowly inched closer, until I finally crested the ridge to join Darrin for a break on the plateau. To the south, Mount Hood, Mount Jefferson, and the Three Sisters glistened again in the sun, while Mount Saint Helens appeared over to the west. Across the plateau and up another 500′ sat the true summit of Mount Adams at 12,276′, but just shy of 3pm and standing atop our planned route of the Southwest Chutes, we decided to make the changeover to ski perfectly timed, incredible corn.

Darrin pointing down the SW Chutes, amazing skiing all the way to the exit in the upper left.

Our ascent route up the standard South Climb had been fairly heavily trafficked and showed questionable snow down low. Looking down the SW Chutes in comparison, we had found exactly what we came for. Three chutes, mid-30s in pitch, with perfectly smooth corn snow for 4,000′ of descent. Easily the best corn I’ve skied in Washington, it rivaled some of Tahoe’s sun-ripened best. Flowing for turn after turn, I chased Darrin down the chutes, both of us ignoring groaning leg muscles already tired from the previous couple days. With each turn, a wave of snow splashed alongside, lapping at my tails like whitewater sneaking up on a surfer. Later that night on a four-hour drive back to Seattle, Darrin and I talked about what drives someone to do something like that. The math never seems to add up, to suffer on the up and the out for 11 hours for less than an hour’s descent. It’s an effort-reward ratio that seems way out of whack, but knowing the perfect sensation of carving down that mountainside high above the rest of the now-green Cascades, it just makes sense to me.

Looking back up 4000' of immaculate corn on the SW Chutes.

In the end, there was a little more adventure just to top off the fun, as Darrin and I made our way out an epic bushwhacking traverse to get back around the mountain to the trail and our sneakers for the hike out. At that point in the day, it was just about moving, skiing over dirt, moss, rocks, snow, logs. My skis are so covered in mud, pollen, pine sap, and other spring debris that it’ll take a couple hours to clean them up for the summer storage. But the extra effort and push just added to the sense of accomplished and strengthened the smile at the end of the day. When we finally got back to the car, 11 hours and 58 minutes had elapsed since our morning departure, covering 7,400′ of climbing and almost 18 miles. An epic day in the Cascades, and another ski project with a check-mark next to it on the list. It was the perfect late season ski day, and with the exhaustion and elation at changing out into flip-flops, the perfect way to close out the 2010-2011 ski season. From here out, it’s officially summertime, and I’m okay with that.

It’s impossible to ski in the Pacific Northwest and not develop a fascination with the volcanoes of the Cascades. Rising far over the rest of the range, they’re visible from anywhere and everywhere. Rainier dominates the skyline of Seattle, Baker looms over the San Juan Islands, Hood looks out over Portland, Adams and Helens poke up above I-5 in between. On a sunny day, at least one of them is visible from just about any other peak, and even on cloudy days it’s easy to clear the low ceiling and look at the snowy summits floating high above the gloom.

I’ve daydreamed over skiing the volcanoes since coming up here, and I’ve slowly started to tick things off the list. Lulu and I tour a lot of the ski season, but there’s a pretty big difference between heading out for a powdery backcountry day at the Pass and heading up one of the big peaks of the Cascades – from greater difficulties with weather and avalanche danger to glacier travel, long approaches, more vert, and a number of other challenges. We whetted our appetites for more big peak backcountry days last year on Mount Shuksan, which while not one of the classic volcanoes, is a formidable ski as the 10th tallest peak in Washington.

Following the July 4th holiday, I traveled down to Oregon for a week of ski testing at Timberline ski area on Mount Hood, and this time I packed a couple extra bags of backcountry and camping gear. With deep snowpack lingering long into summer this year, the timing seemed right to try and knock a couple more off the list.

Mount Hood

I first skied at Timberline ski area on Mount Hood almost 10 years ago, on a film trip with Unparalleled Productions. It was the quintessential dirtbag film trip, laying out sleeping bags in the trees next to the park & ride the evening that everyone was supposed to meet up, then camping out for the rest of the week at the abandoned airstrip down in the valley. I’ve been going back every June and July for ski testing since coming to K2, but for lack of weather, time, equipment or fitness, had never climbed up to the summit above the ski area.

Lanes of hardpacked morning snow above the marine layer at Timberline, Mount Jefferson rising above in the distance.

After passing up a perfect day in June because I didn’t have my backcountry safety gear, I resolved not to return without my backcountry kit in the future. Packed for July, the weather turned out perfectly as the ski test wound down on Friday morning. The bulletproof groomers inbounds began to soften during the morning debrief, and Darrin and I decided to climb up for the afternoon to check out the conditions before deciding on whether to stay another night and try for Mt Adams the next day.

Darrin nearing the bergschrund on the Hogsback.

The afternoon temperatures stayed cool, and we climbed steadily up away from the crowds of teenagers that swarm the resort for summer park camps. Resting briefly above the fumerole known as Devil’s Kitchen, we switched over to crampons and ice axes to climb up the Hogsback and up one of the chutes to the summit ridge.

Darrin on the summit ridge of Mt Hood.

I’d long envisioned topping out above the chutes to find a mellow snowfield leading to Hood’s high point, terrain features that my mind must have imagined. After some steep climbing through wet, almost glass-like crystals and hard ice underneath, I stood on top of the chute, peering down the sudden drop of the Sandy Headwall, falling away dramatically for hundreds, if not a thousand feet to the glaciers below. While the footpath along the ridge to the summit was plenty wide (a “butter-knife-edge ridge” we declared it), we took care in placing each step.

Looking down the Sandy Headwall on Mt Hood's north face.

Conditions necessitated a short downclimb through the summit ice/rime, and I was glad to switch back from crampons into my skis for the long-anticipated descent. It’d been a long time coming, and it felt great to carve slushy turns down the slopes that have taunted me for years. Back at the car after almost 5,500′ of skiing, Darrin and I exchanged a high five and started plotting out a plan to camp out and head for Mount Adams in the morning.

Back in the parking lot, enjoying the change to flip flops and admiring the view that's taunted me for years.

Coming tomorrow… a full-day, late season ski assault on Mount Adams to close out the ski season officially for 2010-2011.