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Leading Sloan Peak?

Norm Buckley

I thought I was going to Sloan Peak for the shared exhilaration of climbing and to provide my companions with the benefit of experience. Tom Barnhart knew I had climbed Sloan before and I naturally assumed that I would lead. He asked me to bring my rope, tent and stove but actually never mentioned that I was the leader.

Tom, Jim Abbie, and I left Bothell at noon Saturday and arrived at the Sloan Meadows trailhead shortly before 2 P.M. The lower portion of the trail was easy to follow, although somewhat over-grown. I then lost their confidence in my route finding skills by losing the trail soon after crossing the North Fork of the Sauk River in an mistaken attempt to shorten the route. I had decided not to go down river to the known log crossing. Beyond the river, we continued on, over and around logs on the unmaintained track. Almost all the creeks beyond the large waterfall on Cougar Creek were dry. The lack of water was in stark contrast to the rapidly flowing streams I crossed on my previous climb two years ago. We made it to our base camp at 5,000“ in just three hours.

On Sunday we started for the summit at 6 A.M. I was leading once again, but not following a route in Beckey’s Cascade Alpine Guide, Tom’s constant companion. As we started up a rock basin heading for a large rock knob Tom yelled, “Stop! Let’s talk about this.” I yelled back that this route was OK even though it wasn’t in Beckey’s guide. We reached the ridge without difficulty. The ridge was slightly exposed and Tom started yelling again. I kept well ahead of him to lower the volume. From the ridge we scrambled up rock to a snow finger that led to a lower shelf. We roped up and climbed high on the glacier, staying near the rock, going toward the south side of the mountain. At 7,200“ we unroped and, taking the western route, we summited just three hours out of base camp. I’m not sure how religious Tom is but I do recall him saying, “Thank God it didn’t rain.” Rain would have made the ridge treacherous.

After an hour on the summit we scrambled back to where we had left the rope, ice axes and harnesses. By consensus, we didn’t rope up for the climb down. Tom and I followed the same route back to the ridge while Jim explored the upper shelf. We rejoined at the upper ridge and descended to our camp in two hours.

After packing up, Tom said he was going to “mosey on down the trail.” He disappeared. Soon Jim disappeared. I never caught up with them. I then realized I had been asked along for more than insurance and leadership. I was the pack mule, carrying the rope, tent, stove, and fuel all the way down the mountain. Could that have been the motivation for them to race ahead? Or was it the large ice cream cones we had all talked about earlier? The ice cream cones at the Whitehorse Mercantile never tasted better!