Tracy Press

A proud, but tired, crew on the summit of Mt. Shasta smile for the camera at 14,162 feet.

Before climbing Mt. Shasta last year, I borrowed the words of Heraclitus, a Greek philosopher from the sixth century, BCE: “You can never step in the same river twice, for the water is ever moving around you.” I stated: “You can never climb the same mountain twice, for the mountain changes its face every day.”

Shasta proved this point, getting only 60 percent of its average annual snowfall in 2007 compared to 160 percent in 2006.

Snow or no snow, on June 22 our team of 19 volunteer climbers arrived in the town of Mt. Shasta to meet and pick up our rental gear. After a restless night’s sleep, we met our guides for an inventory and distribution of gear. After repacking, each pack averaged 50 pounds.  

Carpooling got us to the Bunny Flat trailhead just a few miles from town, and each turn in the road brought us closer to the mountain. Breaks in the trees would have the mountain calling out to us and eyeing the vehicles coming its way.

We followed a dry and dusty trail for about an hour, arriving at Horse Camp where we would spend part of the night. The camp is named for where climbers of yesteryear would hitch their horses while they ascended the mountain.
As a returning fourth-year climber, I was able to actually see the camp for the first time — as it was dry, without any snow. In 2006, the snow pack was 8 feet deep at this 7,800-foot-elevation location, reaching higher than the eaves of the camp’s historic stone cabin.

The group attended “Dirt School” in camp, instead of the usual “Snow School” on a hillside near the camp. There was no snow anywhere within a mile of the camp. We visualized snow, sort of role-playing, with the first-time climbers anticipating some on-the-mountain training.

Dinner consisted of cheese and macaroni with canned beef cubes and rehydrated pea soup, all washed down with Gatorade. Spirited and cheerful conversation ensued before we retired to our tents at 6 p.m. in the full light of day.

The guides roused us from our tents at 1:30 a.m., providing oatmeal and hot drinks to give us initial energy to start our climb. Spaced 15 minutes apart to minimize impact on this fragile environment, our groups of four and five climbers started up the mountain, the latest at 2:45 a.m.

Head-lamped teams dotted the mountainside, moving one short step at a time, following a dirt trail zigzagging up the dark and foreboding mountain. We reached our first snow at Helen Lake, a milestone at 10,400 feet, after three hours of climbing. The lead group edged along the snow pack, up a rock-strewn field to beat the rising sun. As the shadow of the mountain chased us, we took a short break to hydrate, install crampons, and put our glacier glasses on, just before the sun ignited the snow into a blinding white light.

Our lead group took the left side of the Heart, a visible rock cluster in the center of Avalanche Gulch, a slightly steeper route, but one that would get us to the next stage at a higher elevation. Reaching the western edge of the Red Banks, we ascended the almost vertical climb to reach the plateau. Cresting the rocks at 13,400 feet, the team was able to enjoy some level ground before attacking Misery Hill.

Misery Hill is, as its name implies, a gut-check, making climbers reach within to overcome the effects of altitude and muscle fatigue. Reaching the top of Misery Hill an hour later provided the first view of the summit. Hiking across a short field of snow was all that was left before the final rocky trail up the pinnacle.

Reaching the summit is a lofty goal and rewards a climber with 200-mile views and the honor of signing the U.S. Forest Service summit book, leaving a personal mark in history.  

The summit is the half-way mark of the trip, so the summit celebration is limited to 10 minutes before the trek back down begins. The tough conditions from the ascent are always replicated from a different angle on the descent, and the weariness of the climbers often increases the risks.

All 19 climbers safely completed the climb — nine having reached the summit — and arrived back at the trailhead parking lot by 6 p.m. Eighteen hours of climbing and hiking, and the knowledge that we raised more than $125,000 for charity had our very tired, but extremely happy group, celebrating success.

Each climber raised funds for a cause — to cure liver diseases and promote liver wellness. While the mountain and its challenges have a way of changing people, it is the fundraising, awareness and education that are ingredients for real change.

Chuck Cardamon is a local outdoorsman and climbs Mt. Shasta each year to raise money and awareness to fight liver disease.

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