The turn around

On Saturday, Jeff and I made an attempt to climb Sacajawea peak, we knew the weather wasn’t going to be great but the day fit both our schedules. We split up the climbing gear on Friday night and got a 3am start the next morning. From the trailhead, we followed old snowshoe tracks on a more direct approach than the standard route all the way to about 9,500’ where we lost the trail in deep snow. It was impossible to tell if the snow-shoer’s made it to the ridge or summit.

The weather was mostly overcast with a little snow falling but there wasn’t even a whisper of wind. After losing the snowshoe track, we waded several hundred yards up low angled snowfields through thigh deep powder and the ridge came into view as it started getting light. When we left the trees behind the snow changed from bottomless powder to wind affected slabs with some mild trapdoor ugliness but we made better time in the less deep snowpack. From about 200 yards below the ridge I spotted a snow-dervish twisting in the wind and that was the first real indication we were going to get weather.

Still below the ridge we crossed a few sections of snow that settled loudly under us but suspected the stuff on the ridge would be packed solid, we were wrong. We made good time on the ridge and were still optimistic even though the wind and weather continued to get much worse. As we were crossing a large snowfield just below the ridgeline at point 10,632’ the entire patch collapsed under our weight and without saying a word, we both knew our summit attempt was over.

We decided to continue on and at least get a look at the class 4 sections between Chicken-out saddle and the summit but as the wind picked up the visibility crapped out completely. We turned around on Chicken-out ridge and headed down.

All in all, it was supremely fun to be on the mountain and although it’s tough to turn back on a peak neither of us felt cheated.

Jeff wading up the snow fields


Jeff on the ridge before the weather changed



I shot a short crummy video that panns from the ridge to Borah and back to Jeff as he descends toward the tree line through high winds and blowing snow.

Another New Years post.

A small mob of us spent a few days 15 miles past the end of the road in the Lead Belt cabin plundering the pure and driven. Too much cheer made for a slow start on a new year but Bottle flu holds little sway on a powder day.