Echoes of Bikes Past: Yamaguchi Mixte

At a gathering of vintage bicycle enthusiasts last week, I spotted this unusual machine and made my way toward it through the sea of French constructeurs. "Aha!" said the owner, "I brought this one especially for you to look at." Yamaguchi Bicycles, Japan. Year, model, and history unknown. Not collectable. Not worth much. Not of interest to many. But what attracted me was its surprisingly elegant combination of design elements not usually seen on the same bike: a mixte frame, roadster geometry, 26" wheels, rod brakes, full chaincase. The colour - straddling the border between beige and mauve - reinforced the theme of blending.






Despite its obscure pedigree, the Yamaguchi was a hit with the vintage collectors; there was just something about the way everything harmonised. It also "looked light" despite weighing over 50lb.






From a historical perspective, an interesting feature of the bike is the very early Shimano 3-speed trigger shifter. I have never seen one of these before, and could not find examples online allowing me to establish the date of manufacture.






As far as frame construction, it is neat how they kinked the right lateral stay so that it would clear the massive chaincase, then routed the shifter cable and dynamo wiring along that stay.






Another interesting thing is how thoroughly branded this bicycle is: Every part of the frame, many of the components, and even the bolts used sport the Yamaguchi name.






Yamaguchi fender ornament.






Yamaguchi cranks, including dust caps.






Yamaguchi saddle.








Noticing a decal that mentioned motorcycles, I incorporated that into my search and found mention of a company that went out of business in the late 1950s. This could be them. Later a reader posted a link to a Japanese blog showing some photos of Yamaguchi "Gold" roadsters, which is the only other significant mention of the brand I've encountered so far.







Over the decades, bicycle manufacturers all over the world have come and gone. Some of them have left a mark in history and others disappeared without a trace. The Yamaguchi roadster-mixte is in the latter category, which makes its elaborate branding and unusual design all the more intriguing. Did the manufacturer have plans for this bike to become popular, or was it merely a promotional item for their motorcycles? How many of these were produced? How did this one make its way to the US? These things we may never know.






Recently a friend and I were talking about all the new bicycle brands popping up on the market today, and speculating which of them will last. History suggests that most will not. But maybe now - with all the forum chatter and other electronic traces of things - we will be left with more detailed records of the brands that disappear. Stories of failure are just as historically significant as stories of success, and it's a pity these stories tend to get lost. Trying to reconstruct them is one reason I like finding obscure vintage bikes.

Danny Boy

When we moved to the US in the early '90s, I promptly started junior high school in a small New England town. The first thing I remember about walking into the classroom, was the shock of green cardboard shamrocks strung up all over the walls and a large banner declaring "Erin Go Bragh." (That's not how you spell it, a friend from Cork would later wrinkle her nose. But never mind.) Our teacher was fiercely Irish, as were at least half of the students. Second or third generation mainly, and, truth be told, most of them ethnically mixed. But Irish identities had a way of dominating in those days - when the economic boom had not yet hit the Emerald Isle, when South Boston still had romantic notoriety, and when House of Pain's Jump Around played several times a day on MTV.Most chose to express this identity through visual iconology: shamrocks, leprechauns, bright kelly green, friendship rings, and abundant use of faux-celtic fonts. But soon fate brought the opportunity to also express it musically.



In those days, our school had a rather famousa cappellachoir, led by our passionate and popular music teacher, Mr. McKenna. It wasn't just anyone who could join this elite group. There were limited spots. The annual tryouts involved weeks of preparation from hopefuls and bitter tears from those who did not make it. But those of us who made it... my goodness, we felt special. In the mornings, we went to choir practice instead of home room.We wore beautiful uniforms.We stood side by side, in a tight formation on metal risers. Labeled a strong Soprano, I still remember my place: 3rd row, 5th from the right. Our choir recorded albums. Our choir preformed in competitions and won. Once a year we even travelled to compete in the national finals, inevitably returning with medals.



We were one of the best, Mr. McKenna would tell us, again and again, beaming at our fresh-scrubbed teenage faces, our teary eyes and our chapped lips from hours of singing. And we were one of the best because we worked at it. Because we rehearsed until each piece was perfect. And if it wasn't perfect (his face would turn serious now, almost stormy), we did not perform it. Not at a local Christmas concert, and certainly not at competition. Was that understood by each and every one of us? It was.



The national finals happened in May. Competing choirs would select their performance pieces in September, then spend the entire school year rehearsing them. The year I entered the 8th grade, Mr. McKenna gathered us to announce the competition selection with an air of festivity: For our main piece, we would be singing Danny Boy. As he distributed the sheet music, it was clear that the piece was very, very dear to him.



With tears in his eyes, Mr. McKenna talked about Ireland. How beautiful it was and how special his visit there with his wife and children had been - a place where his great grandfather had once lived and farmed.Later, as we struggled with the song, he talked about visualising the glens and imagining Danny Boy's plight. We tried our best, although most of us did not know what glens were exactly.



It was a beautiful, but complicated piece. Or maybe the arrangement Mr. McKenna had chosen was complicated, his judgment clouded by a reverence for the song's Irishness. Overly nuanced harmonies, notes held too long for our young lungs, sharp transitions from low notes to high. We were a good choir, but we were amateurs. We were a motivated bunch of kids, but we only had so much energy to give, after our classes and homework and turbulent teenage love-lives.



In fairness, we were doing fine with Danny Boy. We were getting there. But for Mr. McKenna's liking, we were not getting there fast enough. So he panicked, and he pushed us. With passionate pep talks and hours of extra rehearsals, he pushed and he pushed. He pushed until the melody of Danny Boy began to sound like nails against a chalkboard to our ears. He pushed until the lyrics lost all meaning and each repetition felt like a seizure-induced loop. He pushed until, instead of inspiring a breakthrough, Mr. McKenna broke our spirits.



Having come down with the flu, I did not join the choir in that year's finals. I did not witness the mass hysteria and weeping after, for the first time in its 12 year history, our choir failed to earn a medal at the competition. I only saw my peers' dejected faces when they returned home empty handed. I only saw the careless wrinkles in their uniforms at our next local performance and the way they slouched on the risers, with Mr. McKenna not bothering to chide us for either transgression.



We never talked about it. But deep down we all connected our choir's fall from grace with this attempt at a perfect rendition of Danny Boy. The piece was simply too personal, too precious for Mr. McKenna; he gave in to the rawness of his emotions and lost perspective. The following year, when I was already in high school, we heard that Mr. McKenna stepped down as music teacher and moved away. We were told he had health problems, and there were whispers of a nervous breakdown. It was not until years later that we learned he divorced his wife of 30 years and married one of his former students (by then a high school graduate, aged 19), which prompted parents to call for his resignation.



I have not thought about any of this in years. But I think about it now, in the mornings, as I lock up my bike in the town center of Limavady, Northern Ireland. There is a contemporary sculpture next to the cafe where I like to work. It is vaguely glen-shaped, in an abstract sort of way, and engraved with the lyrics to Danny Boy. Across the street is the colourful Corner Bar, its walls painted with murals containing more references to the song. And a helpful inscription explains the connection: "It was in Limavady that the famous melody 'Danny Boy' was noted down by Jane Ross from a tune played by a blind street fiddler named Jimmy McCurry." The original name of the melody was actually Londonderry Air, written byEnglishman Frederic Weatherly. But never mind. It's been 20 years since I sang Danny Boy and I still remember the lyrics.

Tower Galaxy

I haven't been doing much shooting so far this November, so lately I've been working on more photos that were taken earlier this fall. This particular photo was made on the night of September 4, at about 1:00 in the morning. The Milky Way was so bright that night it looked like it was jumping out of the sky at us. This was a 40 second exposure taken with a Canon 5D Mark II camera and Canon EF 17-40mm lens. The lens aperture was set at f4 and the camera's ISO was set to 6400.

Far Out in the Nears: The Main Line (5.8), Mac-Reppy (5.8 A0), Up In Arms (5.9) & More!

(Photo: Gail showing off a little Moxie (5.9), approaching the good moves before the crux.)




This past Saturday was a fine day in the Gunks. A little warm (high 80's), but sunny. Gail and I expected the place to be a madhouse. So we decided to avoid the crowds by heading to the far side of the Near Trapps. Back in April, Gail and I had great fun in the Easter Time Too area, but we barely scratched the surface. We knew there were a ton of good climbs out there neither of us had tried before.




I hadn't been to the Gunks in a month. Although I'd had the great fortune to climb for four days in a row at the end of May/beginning of June in Squamish, by Saturday that trip seemed like ancient history. I was afraid I'd feel rusty in the Gunks. As we trooped out to the end of the Nears I suggested we start with a route that was somewhat familiar to me: The Main Line (5.8).




Gail has been leading a lot lately and I thought the second pitch of The Main Line would be good for her. She loves roofs and the Main Line roof crux, while burly, is short. I remembered the pro as rock solid. When I led this pitch two years ago I thought the pro was great.




On that day, back in , I was climbing with Vass. I'd hoped to do the whole route but the first pitch of The Main Line was wet. We did the 5.8 first pitch of Ground Control, just to the right, instead. This pitch meets pitch one of The Main Line at its end, finishing at the same set of bolts. I didn't care for the first pitch of Ground Control; I found it awkward and not that much fun. But I loved the second pitch of The Main Line. And then our day came to an abrupt halt. After rapping back to the bolts, I started the second pitch of Ground Control (which is 5.9), but took a lead fall off of some wet holds and sprained a finger, ending our day early.




So on this past Saturday I thought Gail and I could knock off both pitches of The Main Line. I'd lead pitch one, and then Gail could tackle pitch two. And then maybe I'd get back on the second pitch of Ground Control and take care of that one as well.




When we got to The Main Line its corner it was dry so we did it.




I liked pitch one. It is rated 5.7 and I think that is fair. It has several nice, tricky moves on it. It ascends a left-facing corner. When the corner ends at a roof you step right to a slab, then move up to another left-facing corner, which leads you to the belay ledge with a bolted anchor. The larger, second corner is the crux of the pitch but it isn't a corner climb. The crux is getting to the good holds to the left of the corner.




I found the pro to be a little thin on pitch one. It wasn't a crisis, but at the cruxy moments I was often a bit above the gear. I couldn't get a piece right where I wanted it. If 5.7 is your leading limit this pitch might be a bit scary for you.




As we looked up at pitch two Gail wasn't really feeling like leading it. The roof is very intimidating. I'd been there before and thought I knew what to expect so I took the lead again. And the climbing went fine. This is an amazing pitch, with a steep, pumpy stance right beneath the huge overhang, and then one reachy 5.8 move to a jug and easier but still steep climbing up and right to the finish.




Although the climbing was no problem, the pro at the crux gave me fits. I remembered this great placement for a yellow Number 2 Camalot. Two years ago I got this odd but bomber placement right in the middle of the irregular pod above the lip of the roof. But not this time. I couldn't make it work. I tried over and over again. It drove me crazy, and I started to pump out. Eventually my leg started shaking like mad as I tried to force the yellow cam to fit. But it wouldn't go and Gail suggested I step down to rest.




I needed something there. I was confident in the move but the pro below the roof is several feet down and the fall down to the slab would be ugly if you blew it with only that lower piece for protection.




Finally I gave up on the yellow Camalot and got an Alien in one of the cracks on the side of the pod. I thought the piece was okay. It was going to have to do. I did the moves and finished the pitch, which was just as awesome as I remembered. But then when it was her turn Gail struggled with the crux move and when I pulled up on the rope, she was yanked sideways because she'd removed the cam from the pod and my next piece was up and to the right. She couldn't get the angle on the jug, ended up hanging and then couldn't get back on the rock. I lowered her to the belay and had to rap to her. She never got to do the pitch! I felt terrible. Next time I'll place another piece directly above the crux move.




When I rapped down to Gail the annoyances continued. I managed to feed the rope into a notch, getting it stuck. I had to traverse to the right from the bolts until I could yank it free.




It was turning into one of those days.




Back at the bolts, I took a look up at the second pitch of Ground Control. I wanted to do it, but I was already hot, sweaty, and dehydrated. I felt kind of worked over after what was supposed to be our warm-up climb! It seemed like we should go down, have a drink, and find something else.




We ended up doing a lot of fun climbing during the rest of our day, but after our little fiasco on The Main Line I never did feel like I was climbing my best.




We decided next to hit Mac-Reppy (5.11c), which is just left of The Main Line. I was not expecting to get the onsight. 5.11c is just a bit above my pay grade, so to speak. But the crux is one super-hard move at a huge roof, and the rest of the climb has a reputation for being a great 5.8, with a good upper crux involving stemming a corner to get around another huge roof.




I ended up aiding the 5.11 crux. There is a bunch of stiff, faded slings hanging at the crux roof and I imagine many folks bail from there when they get shut down. This station could use some new slings; I would not have felt comfortable using the stuff that is there, as it is pretty junky. But there's no need to bail, people! You can aid the hard bit and the rest of the climb is really nice.




I made a few token efforts at the move. I placed a bomber big nut in the side-pull above the roof and tried to figure out how on earth I would get my feet up into the corner. There is a jug wayyyyyy up there if you can figure out how to stand up and reach it. In retrospect I wish I had made a serious go of it and risked at least one fall. But in the moment I didn't want to waste any more of our day and so instead after a few exploratory attempts at the move I decided it wasn't happening. I pulled on the draw attached to my nut, placed another higher nut, extended a sling on it, and stepped into the sling while I pulled on the higher piece. This got me over the lip of the roof. I could then reach the jug and resume free climbing. I have no experience in this kind of French-free climbing and I found it simple enough. If I can do it then so, dear reader, can you.




The rest of the climb is very worthwhile. There are some really nice 5.8-ish face moves low, just off the ground, and then the upper 5.8 crux is great. Be aware that you have to fully commit to stemming way out at the upper crux roof and getting the first holds above the overhang before you can place gear. Once you are fully in it, though, the pro is great for the few 5.8 moves to the top. It is very exciting. If you are considering attempting the lower 5.11 crux then you shouldn't be too freaked out by the pro situation above.




After Mac-Reppy, we walked further down the cliff, considering and rejecting several candidates until we got to the very end of the Nears. There we found Up In Arms (5.9), a striking diagonal crack climb up an overhanging wall. The crack is jagged, and it widens from fingers to hands as you go up. And this being the Gunks, there are also horizontals to grab along the way. There is pro everywhere.









(Photo: Striking a pose on Up In Arms (5.9).)




This is a quality climb, really strenuous for 5.9 and very unusual for the Gunks. I admit I struggled in this steep section. I took a few hangs. I didn't jam much; mostly I threw in jams when I wanted to place gear. All I could think of was how thirsty and tired I felt, after just a few pitches. I realized that it was time to admit that the summer was really upon us. I might need to dial it back a bit on these hot days.




The diagonal crack system takes you left to a chimney, which is more of a gully, really. It is easy climbing up the gully and then the pitch gets weird again near the top of the gully as you hand traverse right using a little bit of stemming until finally you commit to the overhanging wall again for a move or two around a corner to the main face and the belay tree.




We decided to do pitch two, another very unusual, interesting pitch. This one is reputed to be 5.8. First you step across the gully to an arete below a roof. You have to figure out a way to move up and around the arete onto the face beneath the roof, and then pull over the roof to the right of a crack that runs straight out the underside. I enjoyed all of the climbing on this pitch, but it doesn't appear to get done very often. I didn't see any chalk and the holds above the roof were a little dirty. I felt supremely sandbagged at the roof. I made it over and I know I was hot and tired, but still, I believe I have enough experience to judge when a roof in the Gunks should be 5.8 and this is not such a roof! I thought it was hard 5.9, with big moves to so-so holds. (Gail employed a heel hook with a mantel, not exactly your average 5.8 maneuver.) The pro is good, though. The roof is a fitting capper to a very intriguing route. Up In Arms packs a ton of interesting challenges into two short pitches.




There is a belay tree with slings at the very top of Up In Arms but please don't use it. The slings are all old and crusty and the tree itself looks none too healthy. If I'd had a knife with me I would have cut the crappy tat off of that tree. There are other trees behind for the belay and you can walk off down Smede's Cove. The trail down a rocky drainage is easy to find and it only takes a few minutes.









(Photo: Negotiating the lower bits of Moxie (5.9).)




Once we returned to our packs we walked back the other way and decided to try Moxie (5.9). This is a short pitch but a good one. The climb follows a weakness up and right to a blank-looking corner. The crux is finding a way to move up into the corner and then around onto the face and the rap tree. I enjoyed the 5.7/5.8-ish climbing up to the crux corner and then felt stuck for a minute at the crux. It is a bit of a puzzler, as it seems there are no holds! Anyway there is good pro right there for you at your hip while you sort it all out. I don't want to reveal the solution; I'll just say that, as is typical in the Gunks, the answer to the corner isn't inside but outside. I was relieved to onsight this 5.9, after my struggles on Up In Arms.




With order thus restored to the universe, we made an attempt at another 5.9, our final route of the day: Cherokee, a single-pitch 5.9 that is afforded two stars by Dick Williams in his latest guidebook.









(Photo: Gail at the crux of Cherokee (5.9).)




Dick describes the crux, which goes up a shallow open book about 20 feet up, as being harder for shorter people. I disregarded this warning. He says that all the time, and whenever I hear someone say a climb is height-dependent I dismiss it as weak excuse-making. Real men use technique, they don't whine about reachy moves.




So I had no worries, until I went right up Cherokee and got completely shut down at the crux. It was a just reward for my hubris, but I really don't think height is the issue. It seemed to me the route requires you to use terrible footholds and a tiny two-finger undercling hold in order to reach up to the jug. I got a good brassie nut in the key hold. It did not block the hold. But the hold sucks; it is one pad deep! I kept trying to step up but then kept stepping down. I never took a fall but I just couldn't see this move working out. It felt like I was just going to slip right off. I think a tall person would have to make the same move.




Eventually I said screw it, grabbed the draw on the brassie and stepped up to the good hold. It was my second French-free lead of the day. I guess I really should have gone for it at least once and made the move or taken the fall. I knew my pro was good. Anyway, after I aided the crux the rest of the pitch was really quite nice, with lots of steep 5.8 moves up orange rock. There is some loose rock right after the crux, and a wedged block near the top that gave me the willies. And I thought it was kind of run out through the middle of the pitch. Gail, on top rope, was just as mystified by the crux move. She aided it too after deciding this was the sort of move that could make you rip a pulley or tendon.




I'd like to say that I'll go back to Cherokee on a cooler day when it feels less greasy. But I'm not sure I ever really want to go back and do that crux move. It does seem like an injury waiting to happen. Apart from that move it is a very good pitch, steep and consistent. It just keeps coming at you.




We still had hours of daylight to go but after Cherokee we were both whipped. We decided to call it a day. Another party walked up to Cherokee as we were packing up and as we left the leader was experiencing the exact same WTF mystery as we did at the crux, so I walked away feeling like at least I hadn't lost my mind.




I felt a little let down by my performance on the day. I've felt so good on every 5.9 I've tried in the Gunks for what seems like an eternity; I was surprised at how challenging I found the ones I tried on Saturday. But I came down with a mean head cold in the last couple of days so maybe I have an excuse. Or maybe I just need to stop sucking! Tomorrow is another day.

Strange Onions

I think these are called Egyptian Onions. They grow in strange ways.

Tahoe Lupine

A lupine growing next to Ward Creek.

Walkin' the Land of my Ancestors

With clear skies and 80 degree temps (in October, no less!) I just couldn't stay indoors today. The Crooked Lake Nature Preserve lies mostly in Whitley County on the Noble-Whitley county line about half a mile west of State Road 9.

The southern area, which I explored today, is the Lawrence Bishop Memorial Addition and is located on the south side of Little Crooked Lake, off of County Road 600N. This southern area borders the land where my 3rd great grandparents, Jacob and Malissa (Stem) Wise lived. And where her parents, Conrad and Indiana (Sisley) Stem lived on a neighboring farm.

Below is a portion of the 1889 Plat Map of Thorncreek Township, Whitley County. It shows that M. A. Scott (Malissa Ann, married Jacob Scott in 1876) owned 106 acres of land in Section 3 on the south side of Crooked Lake. This land had been purchased by Jacob Wise in August 1849. To the east of the Scott property was C. Stem, who owned 32.5 acres. Conrad had purchased 152 acres (most of that southeast quarter) in December 1853. Nowadays, the majority of their lands have been subdivided into 2-5 acre lots, several are still available for purchase. Some of the houses being built are ridiculously large, especially in light of the current economic situation.

The map below is from the Indiana DNR (Department of Natural Resources). The outlined area encompasses the Crooked Lake Nature Preserve. As always, click on the images to see a larger version. The dotted line on the right is State Road 9 and the dotted line along the bottom is County Road 600N.

A mowed path meanders along the south and east sides of the meadow. It enters the woods on the north side, weaving in and out several times before emerging into the meadow once again on the west side. This first view is looking to the northeast (from the west side of the trail).

Padre Island :: Sunset

Another one of my favorite places in Texas – Padre Island National Seashore. Photo taken December 13, .. - a delightful 75 degrees! Oh, yeah....



But things are not always what they seem. Apparently the “Red Tide” had invaded the Gulf waters. According to the Texas Parks & Wildlife website it “is a naturally-occurring, higher-than-normal concentration of the microscopic algae Karenia brevis. This organism produces a toxin that affects the central nervous system of fish so that they are paralyzed and cannot breathe. As a result, red tide blooms often result in dead fish washing up on Gulf beaches. When red tide algae reproduce in dense concentrations or "blooms," they are visible as discolored patches of ocean water, often reddish in color.”



I didn't see the Red Tide, but I did see the results.... Along the upper edge where the tide reaches its highest level, the beach was lined with dead fish. Trust me. It was not a pretty site. And the smell? Well, lets just say that it left something to be desired. It really wasn't too bad once you got past the line of dead fish – which included several varieties of Jelly Fish.



According to a pamphlet handed out at the entrance station, Red tide can cause problems with breathing, coughing, sneezing, and teary eyes – especially with windy weather conditions and rough surf – the exact conditions when I arrived and spent a couple hours walking along the beach!



That night I developed a cough and was sneezing quite a bit. I hadn't yet read the pamphlet so just thought it was the cool, damp night air. But it continued to get worse the next day and when I read the material provided at the entrance station I realized what it was. When I left for several hours and went into Corpus Christi, the symptoms abated somewhat. I had already paid for the second night so decided to stay.



The campground (using the term loosely – it was basically a paved parking lot) was just a few feet from the beach somewhat protected by a ridge of dunes. The smell of decaying fish was negligible once you were off of the beach. I enjoyed the sound of the surf hitting the shore and was lulled to sleep with it each night. There is something that can't be explained about that sound. It's primeval. Coupled with watching the waves coming onto the beach, moving in and out... well, it is mesmerizing.



I had planned on staying here at least five days, but with the symptoms I was experiencing, I reluctantly decided to cut my visit short. I'm happy to report that within a few hours (8-10) of leaving Padre Island, the coughing and sneezing stopped ;-)

Delicate Wonder

On our days off this week one of the places we visited was Cascade River State Park, where each year there are several stemless lady's slippers in bloom. These flowers are so beautiful and are an iconic subject of the north woods. We noticed that it is interesting how the "slipper" part of the flower hangs differently from the yellow lady's slipper. On the yellow slipper, the slipper sticks almost straight out and on the stemless slipper, it hangs almost straight down. Both flowers are incredibly beautiful and are a joy to find when you are out on the trail. We spent quite a while observing and taking photos of these flowers. Most photos I've seen show the flowers from the front but my favorite view of them was this angle from the side. I also love the blurry yellow clintonia in the background :-)

Another one bites the dust...

Yep, it was The first Saturday in August, again. The Phend Family Reunion has come and gone for another year. Attendance was at an all-time low (35 or so) but those of us there certainly enjoyed ourselves! A few new faces did show up and there were descendants of three of the children of Jacob and Louisa (Fisher) Phend - John, Christian, and Henry. They came from Texas, Ohio and Illinois as well as Leesburg, Goshen, Mishawaka, Fort Wayne, Indianapolis, Auburn, North Manchester and Columbia City (all in Indiana).

After 25 years of organizing the reunion I decided that this year was the last year for me to do so. Hopefully someone will step up and they won't let it fall by the wayside, but attendance has been dropping considerably the last few years. The old folk are getting older making it more difficult for them to attend and the young folk don't seem to be all that interested. It's sad, but that's the way it is.

Regardless of how many people show up, I always consider it a success when people depart with smiles on their faces! And here are a few of those smiling faces...

1st Cousins - Josephine & Phyllis.

Husband and Wife - Rich & Kathy.

Mother and Daughter - Sunny & Dee.

Little Imp.

Third cousins once removed - Jackie and MattThey found each other on Facebook a few weeks ago.

My brother.

Two of the three sections of family charts and photos.

The beginning. The first five generations.

Autumn Rolls In...

Autumn started last week with a heat wave. High freezing levels and cloudless skies brought the temps up and the climbers out. Plenty of guided parties and independent climbers summitted last week. As the snow continues to melt, interesting objects around the mountain have been appearing. Climbing Ranger Cliff came upon some old aviation wreckage on his patrol last week.

The conditions are still okay for late September. Approaches to the standard routes (Disappointment Cleaver and Emmons/Winthrop) are icy and have crevasses, but are definitely passable. Wintry weather can change climbing conditions quickly. The National Weather Service forecast read "The first storm of Autumn will begin to affect the region late Monday with cool and damp weather lingering through most of the week." Hopefully a week of stormy weather will bring decent skiing conditions.

Sunday, September 27th is the last day the Climbing Information Center will be open for the season. Self-Registration in Paradise will be open through the winter.

Sunset in Idaho

Two hours after leaving Elko, Nevada I turned off of the Interstate onto US 93, which goes north into Idaho. Construction delays made the drive longer than it normally would have taken, but it was through some interesting scenery. In Twin Falls, I connected with the Interstate again, this time I-86 to Pocatello and then I-15 to Idaho Falls where I decided to take US 26 to the small town of Ririe, Idaho. There I found a nice campground on the north end of the Ririe Reservoir, another river that has been dammed up.

I couldn't hardly believe my good fortune – two beautiful sunsets in as many days! The light sensor of the digital camera can't quite handle the variances in brightness of the sun and the area surrounding it, hence the “halo” effect, which in this case I rather like.

Orange Tip of the day



Orange Tip battling against the breeze



Glacier Peak

After years of trying, we finally made it up to climb Glacier Peak. At 10,541', it is the fifth highest peak in Washington. It is located northeast of Seattle, way out in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, all aspects of the 15 mile approach are beautiful. It is hard to keep your eyes on the trail. The forest features huge Douglas fir and cedar trees.
The trail goes through about 7 miles of forest and then climbs up to join the Pacific Crest Trail. The hillsides are covered in Heather and numerous wildflowers. We must have crossed 20 small streams on the way.
After almost 10 miles of hiking, we get our first look at the mountain. At this point we are still several hours from our high camp.
The clouds started to roll in during the night. We had to get going earlier than we had planned to try to summit while we had a chance. Our route took us over parts of the Gerdine and Cool Glaciers. This large crevasse was near Disappointment Peak.
Climbers nearing the top.
Emily, Doug and Dave on the summit. The Glacier Peak Wilderness is full of inviting snow covered peaks.
We broke camp and started the long hike back to the car. As we headed out, clouds began to cover the mountain. Pretty soon we could hear distant thunder.
We saw a few marmots along the way.
Tiger Lilies beside the trail.
We made it back to the car before dark. The downpour began soon after that.
With the low elevation trailhead, the long approach and a lot of ups and downs, this climb was as taxing as climbing Mt. Rainier. It was nice to finally stand on top of the mountain that we have seen so many times from other summits.