Ross Peritore on the morning of our big ski day in the Southern Picket Range.

Ross and I made an initial attempt to ski the Degenhardt Glacier with Jason Hummel and Ben Kaufman, June 20-21, 2004. We took a direct line up Mt Degenhardt from the south on our second day. Ultimately, we were doomed by dangerous (sloppy and unconsolidated) snow conditions.

A week later the time had come. Ross was indefatigable about returning to the Southern Pickets. We knew the way, and we knew just what to do. I gathered all the bare essentials: bivy sack, sleeping pad, shirt, warm jacket, super light shell jacket, two water bottles, one pair of really thin thermal leggings, two pairs of socks, three pairs of gloves (one windstopper, one fleece, and one rubber grip gardening variety), skis, boots, one whippet, one pole, one straight-shafted technical tool with adze, crampons, and a 30-meter long, 8-millimeter diameter rope. I brought a miniscule rack in case we decided to hit some summits: one tiny brass nut, one nut, one mid size cam, one piton, and one ice screw. I had the gear gathered, but I wasn't brave enough to see if it would fit in the day pack until the morning. Miracles never cease, and it all fit snugly into the pack with room for my extravagant ten pounds of food. Even if I couldn't sleep, I would be able to eat the night away.

We hit the end of the road at half past ten. I ingested bushwhacking aids and stashed two Rainier tall boys in Goodell Creek. My day pack felt feather light. The hike went well. We took turns expounding on the brilliance of the «one week later» technique, whereby one revisits unsuccessful exploits immediately while the keys to success are still fresh in one's mind. This time, the «one week later» technique was all too good to us. We were at Terror Creek before we could sneeze.

There is a gully just upstream of the crossing. There is a climber's trail to the left of the gully. After a half thousand vertical feet or so, the climber's trail crosses the gully through some nasty Devil's Club. There are logs that facilitate this gully crossing; they even gave us commodious head room for our ski tips. It was no great feat to follow the gully a few more hundred vertical feet, then exit it left and climb through some cliff bands to the ridge. Ross and I were incomparably exuberant. We had debunked the infamy of the Terror Creek approach, what with reaching the ridge in five hours from the car with skis on our backs.

We finished the approach after a lengthy break, reaching camp in a total of seven hours from the car. We were at 5400 feet, next to the Chopping Block. I decided to stash some of my smorgasbord for the return. We were wondering when it would get dark. I made myself delicious croissant sandwiches with Bavarian sausage and Tillamook cheddar for the next day. We crawled into our bivy sacks for the long wait until morning. It wasn't too bad, but my feet got chilly a few times in the early morning after a thick dew settled.

The morning dawned without a single cloud. We took our time getting ready. We truly had all day, since we were content to camp anywhere with a reasonably flat spot. We booted to the saddle between the Barrier and the Chopping Block before eight. I quickly removed my long-legged underwear; I didn't want them to absorb any sweat. They were for the night. Things were looking wonderful at the saddle. The couloir we were going to climb to Terror Rake Col, on the west side of Terror, was a beautiful thin finger of snow. It looked like there was a bit of rock near the top, but hopefully that wouldn't be a problem. I climbed up a small slope to the knob toward the Chopping Block for a few quick turns.

Skiing the Fence

June 2004