| Peak(s): |
Diamond Peak - 12197 Borah Peak - 12662 He Devil - 9420 She Devil - 9420 |
| Date Posted: | 01/31/2014 |
| Modified: | 02/05/2014 |
| Date Climbed: | 07/03/2013 |
| Author: | ChrisinAZ |
| Additional Members: | spiderman |
| Peak(s): |
Diamond Peak - 12197 Borah Peak - 12662 He Devil - 9420 She Devil - 9420 |
| Date Posted: | 01/31/2014 |
| Modified: | 02/05/2014 |
| Date Climbed: | 07/03/2013 |
| Author: | ChrisinAZ |
| Additional Members: | spiderman |
| Idaho: Ultras of the North |
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Trip stats: 7 states 6 Ultras 16 ranked peaks 4 state highpoints 5 state prominent points 56 miles hiking 31,000' of gain 5700+ miles of driving 4 stitches Inordinate numbers of bugs Climbers: spiderman (Doug and Arthur), me Dates: July 2-14 Many reading this are probably familiar with the idea of an "Ultra"--a peak prominent enough to rise at least 5000' above its connecting saddle. While most are obvious and rise head and shoulders above their neighbors, many of those in the far north of Idaho and Montana are relatively elusive and off the beaten track, and it was to these that the three of us decided to make a lengthy trip in early July. Hours of poring over maps and route descriptions for peaks that may see only a handful of ascents a year, figuring out driving directions, and assembling gear later, and we were finally ready for an unforgettable trip... On July 1st, I took my last exam (in microbiology) and did my last four hours of shadowing, officially surviving my first year of med school. The following day around 1 PM, I met Doug and Arthur and packed my pile of gear into their CR-V, and we headed north. It was a long journey to our first objective--Diamond Peak in Idaho--but we made good time and soon found ourselves nearing Pinedale, WY. This was my first time on the western slope of the Wind Rivers, and damn, were they beautiful. Sheer jagged faces and spires of granite made for an inspiring background to the scrub-brush hills below, and we were pretty sure we could even see the snowy hump of Gannett itself peeking out behind some lower spires. As dusk fell, we stopped for delicious dinner at Wind River Pizza and Pasta, grabbing some leftover pizza for the road. North and west we continued, turning more west just before Jackson Hole, and soon thereafter, crossed into Idaho for the first time in my life. Our route took us on a series of flat farm roads across the massive Snake River Valley, then gradually uphill into the barren country east of the Lemhi Range. Nearing our turnoff, I realized my waypoint for our road in was wrong, but we figured it out anyway, and took the road 1.8 miles in to a turnoff on the right. It was here the road was supposed to become very 4WD, and should we be unable to go very far (which we were expecting to be the case), we'd be in for a long, long trek on very little sleep. To our delight, we found nothing on the road insurmountable--merely some deep ruts and a few brief rocky or steep areas--and after some time, we'd arrived at the top of the road! What a relief...Doug and Arthur set up a tarp outside, and I opted to just snooze in the front seat. I set my alarm for an early start, unfortunately less than 3 hours distant... Diamond Peak: The Stairmaster -Elev. 12,197', Prom. 5,387' -5.6 mi. RT, 4,200' gain -class 3 scrambling, high-clearance dirt road -Butte ID County Highpoint  I awoke, at first a bit groggy, and roused the others, then took a look at my surroundings, seeing Idaho in the light for the first time. Our car was perched high above a broad, barren valley, its floor fading away into the hazy flatlands to the southeast, the sound of coyote song floating up to meet us. Across the valley were gentler high desert mountains, but above us...there was Diamond, massive and imposing and silent. It still looked like a long way up, but it could've been much worse, thanks to Doug's skilled driving. We packed, I scarfed down the last of my pizza, and we were soon heading steeply uphill. After a few short and steep grassy slopes with a faint road, we reached the only wooded section of the hike. We opted to go to the right around the ridge and sidehill, avoiding possible extraneous uphill, making our way through meadows of wildflowers as the sun rose behind us.  I soon tired of the sidehilling and began making my way toward the ridge crest, which seemed to take forever. I finally topped out and was treated to some truly astounding geological formations on the peaks to our south, layers of sedimentary rock folded and contorted into the most unusual shapes by unimaginable forces. And now I could see the route itself...ahead lay a steep hillside with a trail going pretty much straight up it, then a traverse right along the ridge, and finally, the final thousand feet of 3rd class climbing.   We made relatively short work of the steep slope, though I was beginning to lag behind the others for the first time all day, and it was tiring work. Taking a lengthy break near the top, I realized I could still see the car, a sparkling diamond in the barren country below, already far lower than us! We belted out the last hundred feet and reached the ridge crest, which was surprisingly broad and screeish, but with a good trail. Before long we were at the start of the 3rd class. We helmeted up, walked across an easy catwalk, and began climbing. By and large the rock was pretty solid, with ample handholds and footholds, and limited exposure. Options were numerous, and the class 3 was interspersed with class 2 sections with trail sections--in short, pretty enjoyable climbing!  Even with our lack of sleep, and my lagging behind the others, we made pretty good time. The route seemed to generally stay a bit to the right of the ridge crest as a rule. In short order, we reached a shoulder with just one major stretch of class 3 ahead. Going right of the ridge and finding a chute back to the ridge crest, we'd surmounted most of the difficulties, and most of the remaining route was class 2.  I dropped my pack and prayed Bucky the Marmot wouldn't find it, then raced ahead to catch the others. One cliff band weakness later, and I topped out on my first Idaho Ultra. The views were a bit of a disappointment with the haze, but were still impressive (the summit register made mention of someone seeing the Tetons). To the northwest, the range continued on, with the pointed nub of Bell Mountain lying just a few miles to the north. Across a mostly-barren valley was the Lost River Range, and while it was difficult to pick out Borah, the general group of peaks near it appeared to still hold snow. We were clearly a long way from anything...   We didn't linger long, and soon began retracing our steps. The 3rd class descent went well for the most part, seeming easier than the way up. At one point, we got slightly off route, and Doug ended up dropping a good ways to get around a rock rib while I just regained the ridge and found a downclimb. At a few places, we noticed some neat fossils embedded in the rocks.  Soon, we were back on easier ground, and it was a race to the bottom; now it was Doug who was lagging, while Arthur bounded ahead like a small mountain gazelle or something. Down the loose crappy trail, and back on the lightly-forested part of the ridge we went, here deciding to stay atop the ridge instead of sidehilling it. A brief, easy bushwhack down the slope and back onto the high grassland later, and we had only to walk back down the old 4WD road to the car. Success! We'd made it up and safely back on our first peak of the trip, though the same could not be said for the poor blue jay we found embedded in the front grill of the car...   The drive down went easier in the daylight, and before long we were back on pavement, and it felt good. We didn't have very far to drive to our next stop--Borah Peak, the state highpoint--and weren't going through much in the way of large towns. Back in the flat, dusty, sickly-looking Snake River Valley, we stopped in the town of Arco for food, gas, and supplies, then continued up the valley past Mackay (mmm'kay?) toward Borah under increasingly stormy skies. Borah proved elusive, not sliding into view until we'd nearly reached the turnoff for its trailhead. It loomed above, but didn't look very aesthetic--clearly, this was not its scenic side! Driving in, I could spot the scarp where the land had shifted drastically in the area's infamous earthquake (supposedly, Borah had gained 7' of elevation that day). We snagged one of the nice campsites near the trailhead, in probably one of the few lush and verdant spots in this entire valley, and settled in for what looked like nasty evening weather.  We whittled away the evening playing cards at the picnic table in the rain (and thereby destroying the deck from moisture), making dinner, and generally relaxing. I'd found out that Doug and Arthur would be forgoing tomorrow's climb; though they'd enjoyed Borah, they wanted to save their strength for our other peaks. I decided to set my alarm for 4 AM, packed, and retired for the night after relaxing a short while with a book. Borah Peak--Stairmaster 2: Electric Boogaloo -Elev. 12,662', Prom. 6,002' -6.8 mi. RT, 5400' gain -class 3+ scrambling, good dirt road -Idaho state highpoint and most prominent point; Custer ID County Highpoint The morning dawned clear and cool, and I was mostly ready to go; after scarfing down a can of pineapples, I was as ready as I'd ever be! At 4:45 AM, I set off up the trail, at first gradually uphill within a wooded valley, then steeper as the trail wound around the headwall to a saddle, then steeper still once on the wooded ridge! This trail certainly didn't waste time...I was making respectable uphill time (1600' an hour, at this point), in part because the profuse mosquitos were keeping me from taking any kind of lengthy break! I popped up on the ridge above treeline in a little under two hours, already high above the valley, and still apparently alone on the cold, windswept ridge, Borah looming darkly above. Chicken Out Ridge was coming into clearer view now, and I decided to reserve judgment till I was closer--it didn't look too insane, and much to my relief, virtually everything but the snowbridge looked totally dry. At 3 hours, I was at the base of the 3rd class climbing, which seemed to me an opportune time to stash my poles, switch from sneakers to hiking boots, and put on my brain bucket. A solo climber had been catching up with me for the past half hour, and here he finally passed me; we chatted briefly and he began making his way up the ridge. I followed...  Overall, COR was a solid class 3. Not easy, but not unreasonable for a seasoned scrambler by any stretch. The exposure was there in spots, but staying generally on the ridge crest allowed for a very workable route. By and large, it reminded me of a class 3 version of Mt. Wilson's final summit pitch, with consistently solid rock. Doug had told me he thought Diamond's class 3 was harder, which I'd disagree with, but only barely. And they both entailed very similar rock. One added hazard soon, however, became apparent: the Mad Shitter. I saw the loose toilet paper first, thought "there's no way that someone could've--ayup, there it is". Right on the route, too. Absolutely disgusting--what the hell is wrong with people? It took nearly an hour to reach the snowbridge from the start of the 3rd class, but it felt much quicker. Here, I ran into another climber on his way down already (I shudder to think how early *he* started!) who mentioned some trail ahead being washed out from runoff. I downclimbed the tricky rock--class 3+, at least--down to the base of the snowbridge, feeling thoroughly sketched out, axe dangling from my wrist...then carefully followed the footprints across the snow and back onto safe ground. The snowfield wasn't horribly steep, but enough so that without an axe, you'd be in trouble if you fell! The crampons I hauled up never left my pack.  Now on a good trail again, I hauled butt and was soon at the saddle just below the final uphill grunt to the summit; there were nice, if hazy views toward Diamond and Bell here. I wasted some time on the face trying to find a decent route, so my recommendation would be: stay on the lowest option that's an obvious trail, all the way to the top. This cuts an ascending diagonal across the face, popping you onto the ridge just a minute's walk left of the true summit; it's a relatively straight shot. Overall, this face reminded me of Blanca's or Ellingwood's in character.  Finally topping out on the ridge, it was only a short, easy walk to the top, and soon I was one of the two highest people in Idaho! It'd been under 5 hours since I started, too. I chatted a bit more with the other guy--the first one who'd passed me--before he departed, and I had the roof of Idaho to myself. The views on this gorgeous July 4th were somewhat less hazy, and distant snowy ranges, broad high desert valleys, nearby rugged peaks, and deep blue mountain lakes lay before me. Life was good...  My descent was mostly uneventful at first, stopping briefly to chat and offer advice to a few groups of less experienced hikers. I was a bit nervous about the rock above the snowbridge, but found the upclimb to be more manageable. To my disgust, it appeared the Mad Shitter had struck yet again, a bit higher on COR. Holding my breath, I continued on down...soon I was back at my stash, where I changed back into light hiking clothes and began to book it down.  From that point, I hit the trailhead in a bit over an hour and a half--speedy, but my aching feet and knees weren't thanking me! Doug and Arthur were surprised to see me back so early, and offered me some of the watermelon they'd been handing out on behalf of the Woodall Mountain, MS Ski Team (yes, that's a joke). We relaxed, packed up camp, and hit the road. Instead of heading straight to our next destination, we ended up lingering in the area at the Craters of the Moon Nat'l Monument, which turned out to be a very worthwhile side trip! At the visitor's center, we asked about the caves, and were told to check out Standing Indian Cave--it had a stairwell, and was well-lit, rarely held ice, and was generally very safe! Then we asked for a cave that wasn't anything like that, and were recommended Beauty Cave, which we began heading for. Driving across the surreal, volcanic landscape, we stopped to scamper up an ebony cinder cone.   To reach the caves, we had to hike a sinuous paved trail that wound its way through a field of broken lava. It was only half a mile, but to my tired legs, and in the high desert heat, it felt like forever.  We eventually reached Beauty Cave, and given that I'd left my helmet in the car, was very careful in clambering down into the wide entrance. Soon we were in a spacious underground chamber, blissfully cold--in fact, we could see a few patches of ice on the ground! Unthinkable, with the heat-blasted landscape just a few dozen feet over our heads. Emboldened by our ease in penetrating this cave's secrets, we decided to give Boy Scout Cave a shot, which was considered in the most difficult class--hard hats, triplicate light sources, knee pads and the like were all strongly recommended. Boy Scout Cave was actually a challenge. The first opening led to a straightforward chamber, but one whose floor was made of largely ice-covered talus. The second opening led to an even more complicated chamber, one which had a back entrance--on the far side of an incredibly narrow passageway! We all had to get down on our bellies and crawl, with there being maybe a little over a foot of clearance for a few dozen feet.  I did my best slug impression, and thanked my brain for my not being claustrophobic...finally, there was room to sit, then even stand, and the exit was apparent. Ever the adventurers, Doug and Arthur however opted for the person-sized hole to the sky right in the roof, and I followed--an exciting finish, but one that left my index finger sliced open and bleeding. We found our way back to the trail and headed back to the car, and continued on... From here, we headed west, planning to grab food in Gooding. However, between everything being closed on a holiday, and a nasty dust and rain storm (complete with tumbleweeds) that blew in, we kept going. We managed to get in touch with some friends of Doug's in Nampa, and made plans to meet up with them for dinner. The weather cleared somewhat as we neared Boise, revealing an incredibly uninspiring metropolitan area, which didn't even become apparent until just a few miles away from downtown Boise. Dinner was a pleasant affair, though I did have to sneak away partway through to get--you guessed it--more dinner. Hey, I was hungry! We finally departed Nampa at dusk, heading west toward US-95 at Doug's friend's recommendation. As we left civilization behind at the edge of the city, we were treated to a veritable sea of fireworks, bursts of green and white and red blossoming silently into the evening sky. Magical...I dozed off as Doug drove, fully waking only as we were pulled over for speeding in an apparently-poorly-signed town. Luckily, we escaped with just a warning. I remember little else after. He and She Devil--the Unexpected Challenge -Elev. 9,420', Prom. 5,240' -7.3 mi. RT, 4,400' gain -class 3 scrambling, good dirt road -Idaho ID County Highpoint candidates I awoke to the sight of a beautiful, gentle green mountain rising above a crowded but placid camping area, a small island of terra firma thousands of feet above the surrounding countryside. After a few moments of confusion, I realized we must've made it to the trailhead area for the Seven Devils wilderness. My brain continued to slowly reboot, so it took a while before I looked around for the direction the true summits probably lay; when I saw it, my heart sank a little--there was an impenetrable-looking wall of knobby, cliffy stuff interspersed with snow. Guess we might be needing those crampons after all... Now, the Devils are somewhat of an unusual case. Either He Devil or She Devil is the third most prominent peak in the state--but nobody knows which. They lack a precise summit elevation, and both are pretty close in height. Thus, one must climb both to rightfully claim the massif as climbed. To further complicate matters for county highpointers, there's a THIRD area on the far side of Idaho County that's probably higher, but one must climb all three spots to really call it good! And to reach the lakes at the base of the Devils generally requires a 9-mile (one way) trail from where we were starting. Luckily, we knew a quicker way in--a kind-of-secret climber's trail that popped over a ridge and delivered one to the base of the peaks in about two miles. However, that brevity would come at a price... We drove over to the campground area, found an empty site to park at, and tried to find the climber's trail. We mostly ended up bushwhacking for a bit until we stumbled upon it, then made quick progress. However, as we drew into the cirque, my trepidation grew (and not for the last time that day!): the way appeared ringed by steep cliffs and snow, with no apparent way up.  We continued up to a large, low-angle snowfield at the base of the cliffs, where we could now see some very nice steps someone had kicked in, so up we went. From here, the route followed a series of hidden ledges, some holding snow but none that felt all that dangerous. One spot required a brief class 3 scramble, but it wasn't exposed, and we'd soon topped out on the ridge and rested a bit. That wasn't so bad! From our perch, we had a nice view of the cliffy stone buttress called the Tower of Babel (kind of a shorter version of He Devil), and I figured out we needed to turn right. There, an easy trail stayed below the ridge crest to the left, avoiding most of the difficulties. Before long, we were at the second saddle, high above a forested valley. The trail dropped steeply down the other side, and we set off for what would be a very unpleasant part of the journey. The trail was easier to follow than expected--I was anticipating some incredibly faint game trail or the like--but the terrain was unforgiving. We had to cross several moderate snowfields along the steep mountainside, which at this early hour were still fairly solid, and at one point we had to traverse a narrow dirt-covered ledge above a 20' drop.  Not my idea of fun! The trail actually continued fairly level for a stretch, bringing us to a higher part of the valley and giving us our first views of He Devil, imposing and cliffy. Finally, a scree-tastic descent brought us to the valley floor near a minor lake next to Sheep Lake. Yay, the tough stuff was over--or so I thought.  We rock-paper-scissor'd for which way to go around the lake, and I won, so we headed up the isthmus between the two lakes. At some point, Arthur and I got separated from his dad, found the larger Sheep Lake, and continued over toward the peaks, hoping to run into his dad. We soon rejoined, with the help of some campers who were heading out that day. Progress around Sheep Lake from here was relatively easy, first on trails near the shore, then up a series of low-angle snowfields which wound up the slopes below He and She Devil. We'd opted to go for She first, and so made our way toward the gully between the two. Still as much of a weenie on snow as ever, I cramponed up the 30-odd degree snow while Doug and Arthur used only ice axes. The snow was in great condition for it, but my new boots seemed a bit small and the crampons felt loose. I was relieved to reach the saddle, and we opted to dump our snow gear for the remaining south-exposed climb, though we couldn't see much of it. First was a big slabby area of class 3, which we made it up without too much trouble.  Above that was a broad, scree-filled gully, where we spread out and made good uphill progress. As we drew close to the summit, however, the way became less apparent. The ridge looked potentially gnarly, so we stayed to the right and eventually found a way up--a slightly loose, class 3+ series of ledges. I wasn't very comfortable on it, but it went, and we topped out at last. The views were gorgeous and utterly unfamiliar--sharp, snowy peaks nearby, green rolling mountains stretching to the east across central Idaho, and the gash of Hells Canyon and the distant snowcapped Wallowa range in Oregon to the west--but we didn't have much time to enjoy them. Eyeing the rain falling just a handful of miles to the south, we decided to book it and try to reach He Devil as soon as possible while keeping an ear out for thunder.  Heading down, I decided something else might be preferable to the crappy ledges we'd ascended, and stayed on the ridge, finding a very workable class 3 route back down to the top of the scree gully. I'd undoubtedly recommend it over the sketchy ascent route we took near the top. After waiting for Doug and Arthur (who'd taken our previous route), we quickly headed downhill, and were soon back at the saddle. Here, I discovered that I was ironically far more comfortable with glissading than Doug was, and once I'd positioned myself for a safe runout, had a swift and enjoyable ride back down to the base of the snow gully. We soon regrouped and began heading level across the talus and scree toward the He Devil route, aiming for below a cliffy outcropping. After three or four snow crossings and more in sight (I'd thought there were just two), I'd had enough and opted to lose another hundred feet in favor of a drier route; Doug and Arthur decided on some crazy snow climb straight up to the ridge. Not knowing where that would lead, I decided to stick with something surer, and continued on, soon reaching a saddle. Here was a disheartening sight: a large bowl of talus, with at least two steep snow crossings, and the apparent ridge I needed to be on a decent ways off with no easy way to get there. Sighing, I started off following a few cairns, but those quickly disappeared. At least the talus was mostly solid...as I proceeded, I somehow discovered ways to cross both snowfields without actually setting foot on snow, and was beginning to spot a possible way up the ridge ahead. Far above me, I could now see Doug and Arthur making their way across miserable-looking scree slopes, traversing just below the cliffiest parts of the mountain. Nearing the ridge, I was now coming out atop a small rise, wondering what I'd find on the other side, and was relieved to find it was just a flat area of snow. I found a dry, slightly loose route up onto the ridge, and was heartened to be back on something resembling a route again. I began to book it uphill.  The ridge entailed a bit of easy bushwhacking and dodging snow at first, but soon became a simple affair of trail segments and class 2 talus. I made good time on this stuff, staying mostly on climber's right of the actual ridge crest, hoping Doug and Arthur were doing okay. Finally, at a flat spot atop the ridge, I could see them at the base of a miserable-looking gully, and yelled over to them that it looked like it'd go. I kept pushing myself uphill as quickly as possible, keeping an eye on the weather but seeing nothing immediately threatening. Soon, I was at a false summit, the true one only perhaps 200' higher than I, and could see that Doug and Arthur had already topped out.  At the saddle below the false peak, I dropped my pack next to theirs, traversed a bit to the right and followed unexposed class 2+ terrain up to the cairned summit. Made it! Being the purist I am, I made the quick class 2+ traverse over to the other summit, finally giving myself the assurance that, whatever the highest bump of this Ultra was, I had reached it. Traversing back to the main summit, I spent only a minute admiring the views (much the same, except for a clearer view of the Wallowas), then started down, Doug and Arthur in tow.  We mostly retraced my route back to the first saddle, then they opted to follow snowfields back while I tried a drier approach near the lake. Finally reaching the muddy lakeshore, I ran into more campers, and got caught up into a conversation about finding the climber's trail we'd taken in ("I saw your gear and figured you'd be one of 'those people'..."). I warned them that it was short, but brutal, and to be careful on the snow crossings. I was further delayed by some tricky snow crossings and general crappy terrain near the lakeshore, and once back on familiar ground, was frustrated not to see any sign of the others, even though I suspected they were ahead. I finally found them in a patch of shade, and we stuck closer together from then on, soon arriving back at the screeish end of the climber's trail. It was about here we realized we were all pretty short on water, and it was a warm day. Yep, this was gonna suck...  We made a hard push to get up past the unpleasant scree section, and I realized we'd been very close to a decent-sized dropoff in the morning just above it. We made decent time, having to slow at each snow crossing, each one making me more anxious to just get off this mountain. Near the ledge that'd worried me in the morning came what'd be the crux of the route: a steep and wet class 3/4 section next to a very steep snowfield and a dropoff. Doug and Arthur made it up this section, but I had a hell of a time trying to make progress, and my foot kept slipping on any snow step I tried to make. Finally, in desperation, I wedged myself into the small pocket between the snow and an overhanging rock, awkwardly stemmed my way over, and got onto safe ground. Good riddance! Luckily, we were now only a few minutes from the saddle, and before long we were on safe ground. The remaining hike out went quickly, especially with the fun glissade I took on the last bit of snow back into the valley. As we reached the campsite, we crept quietly past someone who was snoring in their tent, then packed up and rolled out. I drove us down the 16-mile forest road, going from high meadows with sweeping views into Idaho, into forests, and down into lower, barren grass-covered hillsides that dove steeply down into the valley. We rolled into Riggins in short order, stopping for lunch at a pleasant cafe. We occupied ourselves during the long wait for food by reading the local rag, which was hilariously over-the-top and chock full of faulty logic; it left no doubt we were indeed deep in rural Idaho! After that meal, we continued north on US-95 through a twisting grassy river canyon, then the road finally began to climb, gaining elevation at a constant grade for some twenty miles as it cut across the mountainsides. We passed over a small forested pass (and I laughed at the ridiculousness of the 4,000' elevation there!), and we came down the other side into some of the most breathtaking farm country I have ever seen. We passed through Grangeville and into an idyllic land of gently-rolling farmland ringed by low forested mountains, glistening green in the late afternoon sun...it was what Ohio only dreamt it could be. This peaceful country gave way to a canyon, which led to a valley, which brought us to the outskirts of Lewiston. Here, we headed north, climbing steeply out of the valley to an impressive vantage point, and passed into Washington's Palouse country. The land we passed through was very different than the parts of Washington I remembered from my last visit 14 years ago, but it was still beautiful. Surreal rolling green hills, a few small, conical, forested mountains, and the occasional small town were our only companions. At one point, I had an "ohshit" moment as two cop cars sped toward me, sirens blazing, but as I pulled over they just blew past. Whew! The sun set over the hills, and as dusk fell, we reached Spokane, which was unexpectedly bustling. We stopped for a bit of food and ice cream, then I slept as we continued north toward Colville and Washington's easiest Ultra, waking only occasionally to help Doug with directions... Click here for part 2... Thumbnails for uploaded photos (click to open slideshow): 
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