Cashmere Mountain NE Couloir
Just after sunrise on Sunday, as I was touring through the Badlands of the Chiwaukum and gazing south over Icicle Ridge, my eyes were immediately drawn to a stunning pyramid of rock and a broad, commanding face on the adjacent peak. I was looking at Cashmere Mountain, all five summits that make up the larger massif. It continues to surprise me that everything in the panorama above is considered Cashmere Mountain -- if nothing else, that austere pyramid of granite on the left deserves a name more dignified than "Point 8055". The more I looked, the more my eyes traced over features on the north-eastern face of Cashmere proper and lingered on the striking couloir nestled into the eastern-most part of the face.
Cameron and I had planned to ski on Tuesday, our sights set on Mount Daniel: a tour assisted by our snowmobile where we could bask in the warm, sunny forecast and enjoy a central and commanding vista in the Alpine Lakes Wilderness. To our dismay as Tuesday grew closer the jet stream brought winds and clouds into the forecast earlier and earlier. Dreams of a sun-bathed tour west of the Cascade Crest seemed less and less likely to come true, so we retreated to the drawing board (CalTopo) and searched for another objective. Cashmere Mountain had been on my short-list for such a day all winter due to its easy access and position in Mount Stuart's rain shadow. The topo appealed to Cameron, so he suggested the north-eastern face as a ski mountaineering objective, not knowing I had been ogling it just a day before.
Although we expected weather to move in during the day, little to no precipitation was forecast, our objective was sheltered from the elements and our route followed a valley where weather wouldn't pose objective hazard, so we allowed ourselves more sleep than usual and drove into Icicle Creek around sunrise to begin the day. The snow coverage in the valley was lower than anything we were expecting, so we were able to drive the Prius quite far up the road. Icicle Creek looked like it was manageable crossing, so we decided to ford it instead of using the bridge at Bridge Creek. The water lapped at our knees and stole feeling from our feet as we tried our best not to loose our footing on the algae-covered rocks on the riverbed.
Our ford deposited us in an unpleasant thicket, but we knew from the satellite photographs that the valley didn't harbor too many bushes: the promise of unimpeded movement motivated us as we battled the brush. As we crossed a barely-recognizable road cut the dense brush gave way to dead-fall and chest-height conifers. Slowly, slivers of snow began to appear between the bushes and trees; mercifully the snow was firm enough for us to walk on top without breaking through. Some combination of booting on ephemeral snow fingers, thrusting ourselves through thickets, performing awkward acrobatics to pass enormous dead-fall and tenuous scrambling on granite with ski boots brought us high enough to find snow cover we could finally skin on.
The next few hours found us skinning through gradually increasing depths of light, soft powder over an icy and firm base. Coverage increased, our interactions with slide alder and other shrubbery grew rarer. As we found ourselves in the upper reaches of the valley, both Cameron and I noted how frequently our poles broke through the snow surface into wells nearby rocks, trees or buried shrubs and we made mental notes to ski this section conservatively on the way out. Stunning granite features adorned the valley sides, lichen and moss painting the faces with vibrant greens and reds.
As we crested our final convexity, the alpine bowl below Cashmere opened to our sight and we stopped to eat in awe of the steep, imposing northern faces and spires surrounding us. We inspected our ski objective for the day and other similar terrain nearby and found no obvious evidence of avalanche activity. Emboldened, we made the final approach to the base of the couloir through larch groves barren of their signature needles. This basin would be a wonderful place to camp in the fall!
While Cameron had broken trail for us through the glades, it was my duty for the day to set a boot-pack up the couloir. Near the bottom, we wallowed in powder up to our chest and progress was slow. I held my skis for flotation and noted as we moved through a variable crust. In places, the crust was three inches thick and exhibited planar breaks around our boot-pack but did not propagate further. I knew the couloir was steep and at the limit of my ski ability. If we found such a crust or slab further up the slope or above the one rocky crux, I knew I wouldn't ski the line. Thankfully, the wind had only built this layer up at the very bottom of the feature; as we climbed I wallowed less, moved faster and found no more concerning snow. Seven hundred vertical feet later, the slope reached fifty degrees as we topped out at a notch on Cashmere's east ridge.
With the weather at the forefront of our minds, we allowed ourselves no rest before starting an ascent of the ridge to the proper summit of Cashmere. From our vantage in the valley, the south-eastern face of the mountain looked primed for a ski descent directly from the summit to the entrance of the couloir. The consolidated base I had been booting through previously gave way to a sugary mess of snow on top of granite slabs on the upper ridge. Progress slowed considerably and the consequences of a fall made themselves very clear. As the winds picked up, Cameron and I decided that the peak, only two hundred vertical feet away, could wait for another day. We descended to our notch and transitioned to begin our ski descent.
Snow conditions in the couloir were absolutely sublime: I felt confident and in control as I navigated the steep entrance and made my way down. Hesitant turns gave way to a linked line half-way down the feature. Upon reaching the lower-angle apron, I was happy to ski faster and carve through the wonderful wind-deposited powder. I snapped a hasty photo of our tracks at the base of the couloir and we hurried to continue our retreat from the alpine. Winds picked up and battered us, the top of the mountain was quickly lost to the mists.
Our descent through the valley was uneventful and swift. We transitioned from graceful turns in powder to ragged turns under crusts and over chunder, to careful side-slips through bushes and over rock bands as we approached the river once more. What was a simpler ford in the morning was much more complicated after a day's worth of snowmelt joined the flow. Waters that lapped at our knees at dawn were encroaching, at mid-thigh now. Midway across, my ski pole snapped in half and I fell in, ass-first. The flow was not strong enough for this to have been a dangerous situation, but it was absolutely miserable, frigid and demoralizing. That same ski pole had been marketed with a quick-release wrist loop. On this trip, that quick-release gave the pole a mind of its own and had me cursing as I climbed back through bushes to find where the pole had relinquished itself from my control and come to rest. Now, the pole betrayed me one last time. Black Diamond, if you read this, be ashamed that you market this product for back-country touring. Some brief wet moments after the ford, however, were all it took to return to our car, enjoy a beer, change into warm clothes and begin the blissfully short drive to Heidleburger, Leavenworth's premier burger establishment.
As we enjoyed hot food, Cameron and I were both proud of our day: we skied an aesthetic, challenging line armed with no beta other than a satellite photograph and some of our mountain know-how. Our ascent brought us up a valley with no trails, no trip reports and no sign that people had ever bothered to whack those bushes before. I'm sure many have come before us on this route but they did not leave behind anything to help; our accomplishment was our own. We managed to fit a creek ford, bush-whacking and booting a fifty-degree couloir into one day, slept in, accessed it all with a Prius and got back home in time for dinner.