Here's where you peruse WACer trip reports and post your own for everyone to see. Remember: Never let the truth interfere with a good story!
| Trip Reports |
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| GuideBook | |
| Weather | |
| TrailConditions | |
| Owned By | georgesn |
| Mailed to WacList | |
| RowId | 25 |
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| Mountain |
Elevation |
Summitted |
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| Baker, Mount |
10785 |
true |
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| Report |
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Ok this is long and relatively unedited. My apologies but I've got a
party too attend. Also all commentary is made in Jest. To those whom I
may offend: I'm sorry; I don't take myself too seriously so neither
should you.
The sun came up early Saturday Morning and with it, under the
leadership of the one known as Brian, arose a group a climbers ready to
tackle not just a mountain but a mountain infested with large noisy
mechanical combinations of the mosquito as well as the skunk. The group
was hearty if not jovial as they started up the road while the creatures
slept off the previous nights debauchery. The warm sun beat down and
quick work was made of the additional 4 miles of road. Unfortunately
not fast enough to be off the road before the slumbering beasts arouse
and screamed by leaving broken eardrums in their putrid wake of twin
cycle exhaust. The climbers were however resilient and barely winced as
one of the beasts split the middle of the group taking a well deserved
rest at the 3/4 buried pit toilets by the "Trail Head". (George did
manage to get the door to one of them open, but I think he was the only
one small enough to fit in).
Our heroes found the upper bridge
decimated by the winter's heavy snowfall, this however deterred them
only briefly as they quickly realized "there's another bridge
downstream" Copious amounts of snow filled the Meadow as well as the
upper creek basin. The group quickly found its self out of the trees
and in the drainage which would lead them to, the railroad grade and
eventually the nirvana that was only know to them as Pat and Nadia's
base camp. Steps were kicked, breaks were taken and soon George found
himself in a race for his manhood against the formidable foe known only
as Teresa. George squeaked out a victory and further solidified his
place in this epic by setting up a bivy under the impending doom of the
encroaching dark gray clouds. Our heroes ate drank slept and then the
call came out "LET'S GO CLIMBING" Hooray the forecasts were wrong the
weather had not come they would go on..... or so they thought.
Our heroes then started on their journey. They loaded up on the
mystical items which would aid them in their feat.. Chocolate Coffee
beans, Candy Bars, Pop Tarts. Soon it was time to put on the ropes and
take siege on the Mighty Easton. Our heroes pressed on into the night
and it is here that the one know as Brooks surly secured his place in
the great hall. It was at about 7500 feet that the mighty Easton
attacked the group with the most ominous of weapons... THE POST HOLE.
But Brooks was not afraid. Neigh! he attacked the post hole and kicked
the step. Others tried to maneuver to the front and take on the post
hole but they were driven back only Brooks had the shear tenacity to
look the post hole in the eye and kick it down. The pace, the altitude,
and the storm which had moved in and began harassing our heroes with
Wind, Rain, and soon Snow began to take its toll. Some of our heroes
were turned back by the mountain so that they might live the fight
another day. 'Twas no shame verily I say as the mountain was wicked and
evil that accursed day. Why I can but tell this tale as yours truly
arrived at the place know as the Calderra, looked at the sideways snow
and said @#$% this I'm going down. It was only the most resilient &
valiant who would continue to fight. Off the went up the Roman Wall
toward the summit and into the most wicked part of the storm. They
reached the top or so they claim, found their Elysian field and deftly
descended before the angry mountain could do them harm. Then with the
rising sun our heroes all found themselves back in camp, the storm gone,
basking in the sun, hydrating, and telling the tale that would comprise
this epic. Soon camp was but a memory and our heroes we returning to
their chariots and the comforts which they would provide: Cotton,
Birkenstocks, BEER. The few who came in on skis found perfect ego snow
with which to execute the turn know as the Telemark and make all the
others think they were a far better skier than they actually were. By
9:30 in the PM all of our heroes were "out of the woods preparing for
the long journey home.
your humble servant,
Norm Fox
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WASHINGTON
ALPINE
CLUB
