Sufferfest: The Ascent of Mount Saint Nicholas
When one of my good buddies asked if I would be interested in climbing Mount Saint Nicholas with him and his friend deep in the Glacier backcountry, it seemed like a no-brainer. But now that I have had the time to properly self reflect on the experience, I have come to realize that I went into this journey woefully unprepared, and it was easily one of the hardest physical feats I have ever engaged in. While we didn’t end up actually managing to summit St. Nicholas, and it took roughly 3 days for my legs to work again, the experience as a whole was something that I wouldn’t trade for anything, and I believe this to be the beginning of many adventures in the alpine wilderness. Here is a collection of images that I compiled over the roughly 12 mile adventure that I aptly dubbed Sufferfest 2019.
The plan had been drawn, and we began with a 7PM start on Thursday, that included 7.1 miles of light trail hiking to Park Creek Campground. Here we set up for the night, made dinner, and got an early start for Friday’s eventual creek crossing, and dreaded 2 mile bushwhack up 5,000 feet of elevation gain. The intention was to reach the Great Notch roughly halfway up St. Nicholas by the end of Friday, where we would then summit the peak on Saturday, and finally hike all the way out on Sunday morning. This was far from the reality of what happened, but I digress.
After a solid slog up the fiercely steep hills with a mixture of scree, talus, and bushwhacking, we managed to make it to the first of many false summits. This lovely meadow provided a slight reprieve while we recovered some more energy for the continued trek up into the alpine, but to be completely honest we were all feeling fatigue pretty heavy at this point. A quick filter and refill of water, some snacks, and a break for our feet, and we were off again, up another incredibly steep scree field.
By this point every step was a battle of the mind. Literally willing my feet to move when everything in me was saying stop and lay down. We were committed though, and we slowly inched our way up the hill while traversing large talus and snow fields, eventually making one final elongated stop before our ascension of the ridge. Class 4 climbing awaited us for the final pitch, and with heavy packs and tired legs, we carefully scrambled our way over the top to our first unobstructed view of St. Nicholas. Pure joy overcame me as I admired this beautiful horn with the sun setting behind its peak, but I quickly came back down to earth when the realization of how much distance was left to climb hit me. With at least 2 miles of traversing and ridge walking ahead of us before we would get to the Great Notch on St. Nicholas, we decided that we were overcommitted and it was in our best interests to cut the journey short.
The adapted plan was to then enjoy the sunset on the ridge, make some grub, and rest our exhausted bodies for the tiresome trek out on Saturday. While my legs were already barely functioning at this point, I managed to run around and snap some sunset photos while using pure stoke as my fuel. Sitting alone and enjoying the last bit of light with stunning views in every direction, I knew my soul was full regardless of not reaching our mission expectations. There was something deeply healing about the isolation of the alpine up here that I had never fully experienced before. Maybe it was the realization that as a human being, this landscape is hostile to our physical well-being. With little to no provisions in reach, you become acutely aware that on paper, you really aren’t supposed to be here at all. One misstep, one mistake, and you are in some serious trouble. And yet, at the same time, I felt completely safe and fulfilled in knowing that my only neighbor was the rarefied air, some low hung alpine trees, and possibly a mountain goat in the distance. Physically wrecked from the climb, but fully energized from the experience, I scrambled my way back to my hammock abode nestled in the shadow of St. Nicholas, with the intention of arising for sunrise at 5AM the following morning.
While I was delivered a pretty dang good sunset, what I awoke to in the morning absolutely blew my mind. An explosion of color filled the sky, and gorgeous alpenglow slowly began to drape the peak of Mount Saint Nicholas. While my climbing partner’s slept, I frantically ran along the ridges capturing as many compositions as I could, while noting a rather ominous rain cloud heading straight towards us far off in the distance. My body was tired, but once again I was emboldened by the conditions and beauty surrounding me.
Before we knew it, thunder and lightning was menacingly taunting us in the distance, and a quick look at the clouds showed the storm heading right over our heads. Frantic packing ensued as we recognized that a Class 4 down climb in the pouring rain, with lightning overhead, and heavy packs on our backs was not going to be the ideal start to our descent. I took one last look at Mount Saint Nicholas, snapped the photo below, and bid my farewell to its majesty, as to the left was a completely different scene soon to engulf us. As we noted, “nothing like the fear of getting struck by lightning to take the fear out of a 4th class down climb out of you”. A quick scramble down the pitch ensued while rain pelted the mountainside and lightning struck around us. Once we managed to get to a relatively safer position off the ridge and down to a scree field below, we huddled next to the wall and waited for the storm to pass while getting absolutely drenched.
What came next has no documentation whatsoever, as a slip infested misery descent was upon us and I couldn’t be bothered to use a camera from pure exhaustion. Many spills were taken down the hill through rain soaked rocks, steep grass hills, and a particularly hilarious 1 hour bushwhack before our eventual creek crossing at the bottom. I laughingly dubbed this section, “character building”. Soaked to the bone, two of us didn’t even bother to take our boots off for the creek crossing, which quickly became a huge mistake as the weight and humidity led to an incredibly painful 9 mile trail hike back. It’s hard to properly express how exhausted I was at this point. If I had to try though, it felt something akin to dragging dead logs for legs, that eventually became dead logs with flaming fireballs attached to the bottom of them in the form of my feet. Pushing through the mental and physical exhaustion at this point was where the term “Sufferfest 2019” really solidified its name. 4 hours of incredibly uncomfortable and painful hiking that became as much a battle of the mind as a battle against the physical body. I found that some meditative techniques really helped me through this portion, as focusing on my breath and staying away from thoughts of the pain allowed me to alleviate some of the misery and forget that I was essentially a baby deer at that point.
Strangely enough, although I was overjoyed to be done, and in no hurry to get back out there, I found a part of myself deep inside that actually enjoyed the self induced pain and suffering. It gave me a greater appreciation of the experience, the accomplishment, and of my photos. There really is something incredibly gratifying about pushing your body to its perceived physical limit, and then pushing past it over, and over, and over again. Now there is this sick part of me that wants to recreate a consistent similar experience in the future. A yearly event that grounds me back to nothing but pure survival, to give a greater appreciation and understanding of what it is like to live in abundance, and how we are capable of much more than our mind may lead us to believe. Mount Saint Nicholas, we will be back to conquer your peak. Sufferfest 2020 rests on the horizon.