Ode to the Shoulder Season—Skiing and Rock Climbing at Washington Pass
Photos and Story By Leif Whittaker
By the middle of May, when winter’s final curtains of snow are pelting the North Cascades and warm afternoons are growing longer each day, we in the Northwest are aching for the full brunt of summer. It has been eight months since we last wore boardshorts and flip-flops. All the ski resorts are closed, but the trailheads and crags are still buried in a thick layer of winter’s residue and it will be another month or two before the highest arêtes and dihedrals are completely dried out. For many of us, the shoulder season is a frustrating interlude between two joyous extremes—deep powder and hot rock. However, as I discovered during a recent trip up Liberty Bell, the shoulder season is not a mere delay; it is a unique mixture of two opposing forces and, when combined correctly, the resulting concoction can be wonderfully potent.
On a nondescript Thursday in May the Washington State Department of Transportation announced on their website that they had opened North Cascades Highway for the first time since October. My friend, Dana, and I decided to go for a ski tour in the area the following weekend and we half-jokingly tossed around the idea of climbing Liberty Bell. I think both of us expected the other person to eventually bail on the idea in favor of a longer ski tour. After all, we had no clue if the finger cracks and chimneys on the spire were still clogged with ice and snow. We resolved to carry the rack and rope at least as far as the base of the Beckey Route (5.6) and make our final decision there. We made short work of the approach, booting up the last 300 feet of firm snow to the notch between Liberty Bell and Concord Tower. Even though there had been dozens of cars at the Blue Lake Trailhead, we found ourselves completely alone at the notch and there was no sign of previous ascents. The most popular alpine route on Highway 20 was empty. It was too enticing to pass up.
Thanks to the shoulder season, the crux of the route was below what is normally the first belay. In the summer, a straightforward traverse leads to a knotty tree on a wide ledge, but a thin layer of slick corn and dripping ice made this traverse far more tenuous. Soggy approach shoes digging into the steep corn and cold hands gripping the umber rock, we delicately hugged the fraying line between winter and summer. The rest of the route displayed a similar dichotomy—icicles protruding from hand cracks and snowdrifts hiding in shade. The contrast was incredibly beautiful and when we reached the summit our joy was magnified by the knowledge that we still had ample time to carve our expressions into the vast snowfields stretching out beneath us.
After four pitches of contemplative rock climbing and two rappels, the feeling of gliding on soft snow seemed almost preposterous. We painted lines into the immaculate surface between stunted trees, all the while savoring the invigorating speed, the flow, and the sound of warm wind rushing past our ears. Compared to the calculated dance of our ascent, skiing was an entirely instinctual release. Our hoots and hollers ricocheted off the mountains, informing nearby adventurers of our utter elation.
Each flavor—summer and winter, rock and snow—strikes a different taste bud. Taken individually, they are scrumptious morsels that feed our cravings. But for a brief moment every year, the two are united into a single stupendous meal that can satisfy all of our deepest appetites at once. This is the shoulder season. Even though it is nearly over, I think I can survive until fall on the enduring sweetness of the aftertaste.
