Trip Report: Rock-Howard-Mastiff Traverse

Galen Weld March 8, 2026

In mid-February, Matt, Eric, and I found ourselves in Leavenworth thinking about what to ski. With decent weather, mediocre skiing conditions, and unextracted wiggles, we decided to head out for the Rock-Howard-Mastiff Traverse, a somewhat classic traverse over three summits along Route 2 east of Stevens Pass. Matt had done it once before, but it was unexplored territory for Eric and me.

We dropped a car at the Merritt Lake road on the side of the highway, where we’d exit, and continued just 3 miles down the road to the Rock Mountain Trailhead where we set off for the day. While the south slopes of Rock looked awfully dry above us, there was still some snow on the bottom of the valley, so we set off skinning up the power line access road, under the power lines, towards the summer trail.

Starting out skinning on some dirt under the power lines

After not long, though, we started running out of snow, and after just the right amount of no-snow skinning silliness, we grabbed out our trail runners and threw our skis on our packs. After rummaging through my pack, I couldn’t find my trail runners - oops! I must have left them in town. Walking in ski boots it was!

Despite the presence of a nicely graded summer trail, with umpteen switchbacks, Matt opted to drag Eric and I up the directissma variation, straight uphill, through cliffs, brush, and shrubbery. Proud! And the few inches of firm snow actually made my boots perhaps the more efficient choice. Before long, above ~5,000 feet, the ridge levels out, and we we put our skis back on for a slightly challenging skin to treeline. A little higher, we made it onto the broad SE face below the false summit, where the going was easier.

Matt brought his ski blades, the ultimate weapon for skinning over downed trees

Matt, thrilled with his line choice, waits enthusiastically for Eric to catch up

As we got higher, we started to get some lovely views across the valley to the south, with Arrowhead Mountain and the Chiwakum Range looking intriguing, shrouded in clouds. We skinned into the large open bowl east of Rock’s false summit, then climbed up to the ridgeline for the last few hundred vertical feet to the true summit of Rock Mountain, marked by the foundations of its former fire lookout.

Skinning to the east of the false summit of Rock Mountain

Eric tackling the last kickturn below the ridgeline, with Rock’s true summit in the background.

Eric heading up the ridge just below the summit of Rock, with Big Chiwakum and Arrowhead in the distance at right.

From the summit, we had great views in all directions, including over to Glacier Peak and the Dakobed Range. We took a quick break before peering down the steep north side of Rock, which was our next descent. The top few hundred feet were an inviting couloir, and after a few wind affected turns, the skiing was far better than we were expecting. We took the run down fifteen hundred feet before putting skins on for a traversing climb over to the notch above Crescent Lake. The last bit of trailbreaking was tricky, on steep slopes with firm snow covered by a few inches of powder.

Eric dropping off the summit of Rock Mountain into a fun north-facing couloir

Nice skiing on open slopes on the North Face of Rock Mountain

Matt and Eric breaking trail towards the notch which provides access to Crescent Lake

We reached the notch above Crescent Lake and looked down onto a nice shortish descent. The skiing was pleasant, and we threw skins on for our longest remaining climb up to Mount Howard, the high point of the day. Lower down, the skinning was steep, brushy, and firm, and I found ski crampons to be helpful. Up higher, the climb kicked back a bit and we skinned up a gentle bowl as Matt regaled me with some of his longest, most eye-roll inducing anti-jokes. Below the summit, the wind picked up and we climbed into a whiteout as we picked our way through rocks to reach the top.

Matt blading down towards Crescent Lake, just out of sight to the left.

Eric chasing Matt and I up the skinner towards the summit of Howard, with the Chiwakum Range shrouded in clouds behind us.

We dropped off the north side of Howard, making disorienting turns through the ping pong ball whiteout until we dropped below the clouds. We traversed skier’s left below the NE Ridge before making a few nice turns down to Canan Lake. Skins and ski crampons went back on for the climb to our last summit, Mastiff. With the weather looking a bit imposing, and only two or so hours of daylight remaining with a longish exist ahead of us, we wasted no time peering over the edge of Mastiff’s summit, and ripped skins for a steep, cool descent towards Lost Lake. The views of Lake Wenatchee and Nason Ridge were very cool, but lower down we lost them as we battled our way through the forest to reach the lakeshore.

Matt putting the blades to work in the whiteout descending Howard

As we dropped below the clouds, we could see a bit better as we skied towards Canan Lake, tucked into the basin ahead of Eric in this picture

The descent off Mastiff was a highlight, with steep turns and cool views down to Lost Lake, the cliffy north side of Nason Ridge, and Lake Wenatchee at far left.

The forest guarding Lost Lake was just the appetizer for the true battle we knew await us on the exit. We simply needed to follow the summer trail out to the car at Route 2, but with dusk approaching and minimal snowpack below treeline, we were looking forward to some proper rumpus. The impending darkness added to the fun when, after taking only two strides across Lost Lake, Eric’s skin fell completely off his ski - total glue failure. An ample supply of ski straps fixed the problem, and we climbed up through the steep forest to the pass above Meritt Lake and ripped skins for the last time. We bypassed the lake entirely, then traversed hard through the woods, making good time to where the trail crosses onto steeper southerly slopes at ~4,200 feet. From there, a mere thousand feet above the a road that would offer comparatively easy travel, we were confronted with the rapidly vanishing snowpack. Matt and I charged ahead, using the snow patches to build speed as we launched ourselves across increasingly large stretches of dirt, rocks, and branches. Eric, who is not yet familiar with Matt and my depravity, tapped out and removed his skis, opting to walk down the partially melted out trail.

Matt and I forged ahead, skis still affixed to boots, and you can imagine our joy when, in the failing light, we heard Eric approaching from behind—but on ski, not on foot! He had seen the error of his ways and returned to the more elegant approach to mountain travel.

Reunited, we continued downwards, and with great velocity launched ourselves out of the forest and onto the snowcovered Merritt Lake road. As a matter of pride, none of us pulled out our headlamps as we poled and skated down the road towards the highway. The darkness made the last mile all the more fun, as I could see sparks fly from Eric’s metal ski edges with each high-velocity gravel patch encounter.

Trip Report: A Little Bail on Big Devil

Galen Weld February 4, 2026

Well well well… we’re in the midst of the shittiest winter the Cascades have seen in a decade, but we still have to make the most of it! Two weeks ago we were confronted with another classic January high pressure system: beautiful clear skies and atrocious skiing. Naturally, it was time for… another silly ski blade mission! After a classic morning-of objective decision, Matt and I headed up the Cascade River Road to the Monogram Lake trailhead, hoping to camp in a beautiful spot and hopefully tag Big Devil, the highest summit of Teebone Ridge, a part of North Cascades National Park that I’d never visited before.

We set off from the trailhead at a civilized hour, thankful for the hard work of the folks who had cleared several debris slides that had blocked the road after November’s big floods. Matt whined more than usual when putting on his heavy, stuffed-to-the-gills pack, which I must admit gave me some schadenfreude, but of course he still smoked me on the switchbacks with no snow in sight. We finally hit consistent snow just above the Lookout Mountain-Monogram Lake bifurcation, around 4,300 feet, and ditched our hiking boots in favor of skins. We followed the summer trail through the forest until the meadows around 5,000 feet, then made a rising traverse towards Monogram Lake, and soon were rewarded with our first views of the lake and Eldorado looming behind it. We ripped skins and skied, with some silliness, to Monogram Lake, about 3.5 hours after leaving the car.

Our first view of Monogram Lake, with Eldorado behind it, looking pretty.

A little low tide silliness on the way to Monogram Lake.

We skied across the lake and headed east, crossing the ~5,500 foot saddle to access the basin south of Little Devil. The Monogram Glacier has receded quite a bit since most maps were updated, and we opted to stay outside its lateral moraine (to the west), which meant we had to rip skins for a short steep descent to the glacier proper. Next time it may be faster to just follow the outlet stream up to the toe of the glacier itself. Once on the glacier, though, it was easy skinning to the 6,600 foot saddle immediately west of Little Devil itself, where we planned on camping. We arrived here around an hour before sunset, and dropped our packs to tag the summit. With firm and mildly steep snow, we left the skis too, and just booted easily to the top, with amazing views and a lovely sunset.

Matt staying cool on the way up to the lateral moraine of the Monogram Glacier.

Crossing the Monogram Glacier, with stunning views of Eldo and the Three Dicks.

Evening light on Shusksan and Blum, with the western slopes of Big Devil in the foreground.

Panoramic beauty from Little Devil: Primus and Tillies’ Towers above the Backbone Ridge, Dorado Needle and Eldorado above Marble Creek, the Three Dicks at right, with Johannesburg catching the last of the evening sun.

On the way down, we realized it would have been smart to not leave our ice axes with our packs.

We found a sheltered spot for our tent near some big boulders, and got to work digging a tent platform and wind wall, melting water, and making dinner. A few hill sprints before getting into our sleeping bags meant we were nice and cozy overnight, with temps in the low twenties. After plenty of hours of darkness, I got up before sunrise and wandered up the hill to the west to enjoy great views of the Southern Pickets.

Matt cozy at camp as the first light of the day hits the summit of Baker

Fury pokes out from behind the Twin Needles and the Rake, with the Chopping Block catching some sun below. Terror and Degenhardt in the middle, Inspiration to the right, and The Trapezoid looking cool with Luna just to the right.

Cool shadows on the toe of the Monogram Glacier, and the frozen surface of the meltwater lake that is rapidly replacing it :(

As we ate breakfast, Matt and I considered our options for the day. We had hoped to descend to around 4,400 feet on the west side of Teebone Ridge to climb the South Face of Big Devil, but it looked like unpleasant traversing through barely snowcovered forest followed by some nasty gullies that were full of slide debris. Feeling uninspired, we decided to save Big Devil for another day, and went to tag Baksit (Pt. 6,920+) as a consolation prize. With firm snow, a shaded route, and boot crampons burning a hole in our packs, we left the skis once again and romped over to Baksit in our boots, a pleasant 90 minute round trip from camp.

Fallen Angel Peak from the summit of Baksit, with the Snowfield group in the background: Pyramid, Paul Bunyan’s Stump, a guest appearance from Jack, the Horseman’s Pack, and Snowfield herself in the sun.

Back at camp, having skipped Big Devil, we had plenty of time for our exit, so we decided to spice things up by traversing along the ridge to the southwest directly to Pt. 6,844, staying above the Monogram Glacier. Firm skinning with ski crampons quickly gave way to steep frontpoint traversing with heavy packs and boot crampons through the steepest part, but quickly we were on the summit, ripping skins for our last descent.

Skinning above the Monogram Glacier, with Eldorado, the Three Dicks, and Hidden Lake Peaks across Marble Creek behind.

Matt heading towards the steeper slopes between us and Pt. 6,844, which is the taller summit at left.

Traversing steep slopes above the Monogram Glacier - Matt was a trooper.

From Pt. 6,844, we traversed high above Monogram Lake to cross the ridge at 6,200 feet just south of Pt. 6,708, putting us in the Lookout Creek drainage, just under 2,000 feet above the trail. These southwesterly slopes offered by far the best skiing of the trip, on snow that could reasonably be called corn. Before long, of course, we were back on the snowcovered summer trail, where the requisite forest silliness brought us back to our hiking boots.

Matt skiing off the summit of Pt. 6,844, with great views of the bigger peaks to the east.

The best skiing of the trip was also the last skiing of the trip, in the broad bowl above the trail in the Lookout Creek drainage. Lookout Mountain in the distance.

No blade mission is complete without some running out of snow forest silliness.

Trip Report: Ski Touring in Hokkaido

Galen Weld January 29, 2026

Earlier in January I was lucky to spend six amazing days backcountry skiing in Hokkaido, the northernmost (and snowiest) major island of Japan. After a busy fall of travel, I wasn’t planning on leaving the country again so soon; when my cousin Will called me up to ask if I was interested in skiing in Japan, I told him no. A few weeks later, when I heard that he and Adam were planning on going without me, the fomo was too much and I booked flights to join for the first half of the trip 😅.

We mixed up the groups here and there, but the core five of us (Adam, Will, John, Ben, and myself) got in a bunch of great ski days in a wide range of conditions from stormy to bluebird. There is simply so much ski terrain in Hokkaido that even after six days of skiing, I felt like I had barely seen the island. The skiing on Hokkaido was also fun because it is so different from the skiing back in Washington: incredibly light snow, much gentler mountains with less steep terrain and less alpine terrain, and deciduous forests full of birch trees that look truly magical when blasted with snow.

Day 1: After a delayed flight and a long snowy drive to Furano the night before, we got a slow start heading up to Furano-dake, the southernmost mountain in the Tokachi Volcanic Group and part of Daisetsuzan (“Great Snowy Mountains”) National Park, one of the largest national parks in Japan. We met up with two of John’s friends at the trailhead, and headed out for some storm skiing below treeline. After a healthy dose of first day faffing, including heading up too early and getting split up on the skin track, we enjoyed several great (but short) laps of tree skiing.

Adam skiing in the trees on the north side of Furano-dake.

John boosting off a stump in the forest on Furano-dake.

With the slow start and big group, we stayed out until dark to get as much skiing as possible. After making our way back to the car park, we were thoroughly damp, chilled, and tired, and it was quite dark. Rather than head back to our hotel, we decided to head just a few kilometers down the road to Fukiage Onsen, a natural (and undeveloped) hot spring that we had heard was lovely.

As it was dark, I didn’t get any photos of the onsen, but our visit was one of the most memorable parts of the trip. It was about 5 degrees Fahrenheit when we arrived, with easily six feet of snow on the ground, and more falling from the sky. The onsen was a snowy 200 yard walk from the car, and we were all chilly and a bit hangry. Foolishly, despite having headlamps, Ben and I left ours in the car despite it being pitch black outside. We all walked to the onsen, which we had essentially all to ourselves. Adam stuck his hand in the first pool and confidently announced “this feels like a great temperature!” yet the idea of stripping to the nude under the frigid night sky seemed quite daunting. Will, the bravest of all of us, decided to set a good example, and pulled off his ski clothes, nearly slipping on the ice on the edge of the pool on his way in. When he stepped into the water, however, he squealed in pain: what Adam had concluded was a nice temperature was in fact scaldingly hot, and the remaining four of us watched with entertained horror as Will oscillated vertically, simultaneously burning his lower half while his upper body was still freezing. There was one local who was just leaving as we arrived, and although he didn’t speak any English and we didn’t speak any Japanese, Will’s frantic cursing and moaning needed no translation.

We collected our casualty and made a tactical retreat, then eventually all five of us got in one of the lower, cooler pools, and we had a lovely soak in the snowy forest before heading back to Furano.

Day 2: With another stormy day in the forecast, we opted to stay closer to our hotel, and took a few laps in the “premium zone” at the Furano resort before heading out of the ski area boundary to ride the lift-accessed backcountry. It snowed hard during the morning, but the precipitation tapered off into the afternoon, and we even got a little bit of sun! There’s lots of great top-to-bottom laps accessible with some hiking or skinning out of the ski area boundary, and we had a great day.

John skiing some lightly tracked pow during a sunny moment, with Furano Nishi-dake in the backround.

Day 3: We woke up to a stunning sunrise in Furano, and felt optimistic about our plan to head up to Asahi-dake, the tallest summit on Hokkaido. With the forecast calling for a break in the storms, we hoped we might have an opportunity to poke up into the alpine, but as we drove north on the beautiful winding road, it became clear that the weather on Asahi-dake would not be, well, clear.

We took the Asahi-dake Ropeway up to treeline, and stepped out of the top terminal into an absolute ping pong ball whiteout. With the alpine out of the question, we skied down into the forest, through some magical trees that looked straight out of a fairy tale, and had a great day skiing blower powder on the one part of Asahi-dake that has some steeper terrain, which unfortunately meant it was fairly crowded. Nonetheless, we had a lot of fun getting in a bunch of short laps among the birches.

Adam skiing some low angle trees below the top terminal of the Asahi-dake Ropeway.

Will, John, and Adam skiing out of the forest on Asahi-dake.

Ben stands out from the white forest in his yellow jacket

Day 4: With a lucky stroke of clear weather, we were able to tag the summit of Ashibetsu-dake, the tallest mountain in the Yubari Mountains, and ski from the top in amazing conditions, along with great views of the rest of the range. This was probably the highlight of the trip for me.

Furano town and ski resort as seen from our hotel. Furano Nishi-dake is the summit at far left, which we skied the following day.

We had another gorgeous sunrise in Furano, and headed just a few minutes out of town to reach the trailhead. Unlike most of the other skiing we did, we started in the lowlands, at the very bottom of the mountain range, and skied all the way up to the summit, barely seeing another soul. This made Ashibetsu-dake feel quite different from the rest of the tours I did, which all had many relatively short laps.

We started off in the sunshine, and followed a long, meandering ridge up towards the treeline. Eventually the old skinner we were following ended, and we broke trail until we popped into a broad, gentle meadow. The structure of Ashibetsu-dake is interesting, with its eastern slopes being fairly steep at lower elevations, with a gentle bench at treeline below the steeper summit pitches. The clouds had been swirling around the higher parts of the mountain all morning, and we weren’t certain if the visibility would be conducive for a summit push.

Adam beneath one of Ashibetsu-dake’s craggly subsummits.

With uncertain weather, we hmmed and hawed about what to do, but ultimately decided to head towards the false summit, hoping that things would clear up for us. Our bet paid off, and as Adam broke trail, the clouds dissipated, and when we reached the false summit we were rewarded with a great view of the true summit, not far away. We decided to go for it, and traversed over to the last pitch below the top, which we booted up through deep snow. The summit itself was plastered with rime ice and felt almost as though we were on a different planet.

Adam and Will on the skintrack below the false summit of Ashibetsu-dake

Adam down-skinning along the ridge between the false and true summits of Ashibetsu-dake

John, Adam, and Will booting up the last few feet below the summit

Somehow, despite being the tallest point around, the northeastern slopes below the summit had avoided being blasted by the strong winds which are common to the area, we skied blower powder directly off the summit - an amazing lap, with steep slopes up high leading down into a beautifully forested drainage above the meadowed bench.

Adam skiing off the summit of Ashibetsu-dake, with the rest of the Yubari Mountains stretching to the north behind him.

With our remaining daylight rapidly dwindling, we threw our skins back on and headed back up to the false summit, eager to get one more lap in before our remaining 3,000+ feet of skiing down to the car. The sun dimmed behind high clouds, but the exit itself ended up being super fun, with a long descent down a steep drainage that eventually funneled us into some creek hole spiciness. We climbed out of the creek and back to our approach skin track, then skied back down the ridge towards the road, which was a bit confusing by headlamp. After one last short skin, we made it back to the cars well after dark, happy with a fantastic day.

Adam and Will dodging some creek hole/waterfall silliness

Day 5: We said goodbye to Ben, who was heading back to the US, and headed back to the Furano backcountry for a half day before driving back to Sapporo, where we were swapping vehicles later that afternoon. Even though we only had a few hours to ski, we still were able to ski over to Furano Nishi-dake and tour all the way along the ridge, under beautiful bluebird skies, before taking two laps down into the drainage between it and the ski area. The summit ridge of Furano Nishi-dake was steep and corniced, and afforded nice views to the south, dominated by Ashibetsu-dake, which we had just skied the day before.

Touring through the forest on Furano Nishi-dake.

Ashibetsu-dake’s steep northern slopes, as seen from the corniced summit ridge of Furano Nishi-dake. We skied roughly the left hand skyline of Ashibetsu-dake the day before.

John skiing the north slopes of Furano Nishi-dake

Day 6: With another stormy day forecast, we drove west from Sapporo onto the Oshima Peninsula and headed to Kiroro, closer to the Sea of Japan, which meant more precipitation and warmer temperatures. For my last day skiing, I wanted to get a big day in, so we toured from Kiroro just west of the ski area, and busted out a bunch of great storm skiing laps in the steep forested hills. With countless faces, ridgelines, and drainages, we had lots of exploring to do, and didn’t see so many people. With a cloudy sunset just a few minutes away, we hurried up the skin track, and I was able to hit just over 8,000 feet of touring for the day, despite a leisurely start. It was a great way to end my ski trip, but the trip wasn’t over.

After heading back to the car, we headed down to Otaru and had a lovely time relaxing in the onsen there before the remaining boys dropped me off at the train station to head back home, while they all had several more days of fantastic skiing.

John, Adam, and Will skinning up for another lap

In the forest, though, the skiing was deep! Here’s Will up to his chest.

Best Photos of 2025

Galen Weld January 20, 2026

Well, another year down. 2025 was an eventful year with some great moments and some bummers. Highlights include Becca and I getting married, some amazing skiing and climbing trips, lots of international travel, and finishing my PhD! Bummers include the passing of our beloved kitty Sahara, and plenty of political stupidity.

The year started off with lots of great ski trips, then a busy spring and summer of travel: Peru in May, Austria, Denmark and Iceland in June. Back in Washington for the summer proper, Becca and I did several great and classic alpine traverses with friends, which were real highlights, and and I’m super proud of Becca for being infinitely more comfortable and steep snow and glaciated terrain than she was just a few years ago. We had an amazing wedding in August, with tons of friends and family coming out to Washington to support us, then shortly thereafter I dived into the last push at work finishing off my dissertation and preparing for my defense at the end of September. We immediately jumped into more travel, enjoying the larches in the Cascades (including some memorable early skiing season) and then back to Scandinavia and Iceland before flying back to the US and immediately heading out on a massive six week road trip to Utah, the East Coast, and California, visiting friends and family at every stop. Back in Washington for December, Becca started her new job at MagniX and had two brief weeks of onboarding before we headed back out of town for a honeymoon in Spain and France, then we returned to Seattle to ring in the new year!

Well, writing that all out, I realize I’m pretty darn lucky to get to spend so much time travelling and doing the things that I love. I am so thankful for my friends, family, and career that makes it all possible. It’s always hard to pick favorite photos, and this year had especially many great trips, but here are a few of my favorite shots from last year!

Looking forward to an even better 2026!

It seems like every year there’s a midwinter high pressure system that offers a few days of nice weather, and 2025 was no exception. In January, Adam and I grabbed our ski blades and headed up Gunn Peak for a great overnight. Here Adam is skiing off the summit of Wing Peak at dusk.

In February, Adam, Matt, and I headed up to British Columbia for a few days of skiing at Rogers Pass. The first part of our trip was stormy, and we had a great time skiing pillows (Adam pictured here).

Towards the end of our trip to BC, we lucked out with a day of great (but frigid!) weather, and skied the uber-classic Youngs Traverse in blower conditions all to ourselves. The hours of trailbreaking were absolutely worth the amazing feeling of being completely alone on the Illecillewaet, surrounded by massive mountains. Here Adam and Matt are approaching the summit of Youngs Peak.

Matt and Adam skinning along the Youngs Traverse, with Mount Sir Donald in the background. Dropping into Seven Steps with this view, just before sunset, is quite possibly one of my favorite skiing memories ever.

I had plenty of great skiing closer to home, too. Here Vadim and Luke are skinning up towards Chair Peak in the Alpental Valley.

In March, my family headed to Death Valley for a few days, including a great backpacking trip in the Mesquite Flat sand dunes. We also saw Dead & Co. at the Sphere on the way there (RIP Bobby).

With April came longer days and the ability to push up into some bigger mountains in the Cascades. Adam, Matt and I camped just below the summit of Dragontail and got caught in a surprise storm - but not before we watched this beautiful sunrise over the Enchantments.

In late April, Alex came up for his annual spanking by the Weld brothers, and this time around he happened to arrive on opening weekend of the North Cascades Highway. We headed up onto the Ragged Ridge for one of my favorite ski trips of the year, camping just below the summit of Cosho. Here’s the first light of sunrise hitting the north side of Goode.

The next day, on the way out, Adam and I checked out this very cool ice cave on the Katsuk Glacier. Pachyderm Peak in the background.

In May, Becca and I headed to Peru with my family for a trek in the Cordillera Huayhuash. It was an amazing trip punctuated by some less-than-stellar weather, but we had a few amazing days with stunning views. Here’s Jirishanca and Nevado Rondoy before sunrise on our second day of the trip.

A few days later, Dad and I had an amazing evening photographing this view of Nevado Puscantrurpa lit up by fiery sunset light.

In June, Becca and I headed back to BC for some climbing, then headed up for a quick camping trip in Garibaldi Provincial Park. We had a great time (and Becca did a great job) skiing back down from the Black Tusk by moonlight, with a stunning view of Lake Garibaldi below Mount Garibaldi still catching some alpenglow.

July brought the first of our alpine traverses: the Ptarmigan Traverse, which follows the crest of the Cascades south from the southern edge of North Cascades National Park towards Glacier Peak. I’d explored the area along the route from both ends, but had never done the whole traverse before, so it was fun to finally visit some places that had been on my list for many years, like this view of Dome Peak and the Chickamin Glacier from White Rock Lakes,

We’ll have to come back to climb Gunsight, though.

Adam and Helene and Becca walking past Glacier Peak on the last night of the trip.

Later in July I got to explore another new-to-me area of the Cascades, climbing Daniel, Hinman, Lynch, and Dip Top on a great 1.5 day solo trip. This view of Daniel, the Lynch Glacier, and Pea Soup lake was awesome! My knee started giving me some IT band trouble on the way out, but thankfully it seems to be doing OK now.

Matt, Eric, Becca, and I set out a few weeks later to attempt the Torment-Forbidden Traverse in another 1.5 day trip. We had a grand time, including an airy bivy just below the summit of Torment. We woke up to this stunning undercast filling the Cascade River valley, looking south to some of the peaks along the Ptarmigan we’d passed by earlier that month: Spider, Dome, Formidable, and Glacier Peak. Johannesburg is the closer peak to the right.

Normally I wouldn’t include photos I didn’t take in this, but this one from August seems important :)

Later in August, I engaged in a harebrained scheme to camp above Sibley Pass and have Adam and Shawn intercept me in the morning for a trip up the Three Dicks. The sunrise on Hidden Lake Peaks was gorgeous, and I went back to sleep until Shawn and Adam found me in my bivy sack along the ridge an hour or two later…

The climb of the Three Dicks itself was a ton of fun, with incredible views of the West Face of Eldorado as we scrambled along the exposed ridge.

Over Labor Day weekend, Matt, Austin, Becca and I set off across the border into BC to do a traverse across the Tantalus Range, a rugged part of the Coast Mountains looming over Squamish. It was a super fun trip, with amazing views, lots of elevation gain, a surprise thunderstorm, and bunches of rock-ice-rock transitions that late in the season.

Rappelling off the summit of Mount Tantalus itself was epic, and we descended past the Witch’s Tooth, an impossible-looking rock needle. Alpha Mountain in the background.

The rest of September flew by, and I was busy at work finishing my dissertation and preparing for my defense. Before I knew it, autumn arrived in the mountains, and we headed over to the Methow with my family, including a nice overnight at Copper Glance Lake among the golden larches.

The next week brought an early winter storm to the Cascades, and I headed right back to the Methow a week later, this time with skis, for an early October overnight ski tour up to Raven Ridge. It was exhausting breaking trail through deep snow, so I didn’t make it to the summit, but after a frigid bivy I was rewarded with an amazing sunrise, with backlit larches above Crater Lake. I skied back out to my car, got my flat tire repaired, and drove straight home to catch a flight that very night to leave for CSCW in Norway. A full-value day!

On the way to Norway, I stopped for a day in the Catskills, and I had a grand time photographing the fall foliage, waterfalls, and mountain landscapes. Here’s North-South Lake and Kaaterskill High Peak at sunset.

Bastion Falls on Spruce Creek in Kaaterskill Clove

I gave myself a few days to explore the Bergen area in Norway before my conference started, and the fall foliage there was more striking than I expected. Here’s a view of an old building across the fjord on Osteroy Island.

On the way back from Norway, I met up with Dad in Iceland, and we went straight from the airport to catch the sunrise near Grindavik.

We got super lucky with the weather, and a highlight was a sunset hike in Vatnajökull National Park. This view is looking up above treeline towards Kristínartindar.

Later that evening, at dusk, we enjoyed this spectacular (and cold!) view out over the Skaftafell Glacier.

We made it as far east along the south coast of Iceland as Hvalnes, where I had fun photographing this frozen pond with grass hummocks, before we started making our way back towards Reykjavik.

The weather changed for the return leg of our trip, and after a long drive through a dark, snowy blizzard, Dad and I camped and awoke to this cool view of snow covered braided river channels north of Vik.

Becca and I had just a few days at home before heading out for the next leg of our fall travels, this time heading down to Utah for a few weeks in Moab and the surrounding area. One of many highlights of our time in Moab was riding a few of the classic mountain biking trails, including the Whole Enchilada, and the Slickrock Trail pictured with Adam riding here.

We didn’t only bike, though! We also did some canyoneering trips, some climbing, and an early morning climb and rappel off of Looking Glass Arch, which Becca is framed by in this photo.

The most memorable part of our time in Utah, however, was a quick backpacking trip in Canyonlands National Park, where by an extraordinary stroke of luck we happened to see the aurora from some of the darkest skies in the country. Normally the aurora isn’t visible as far south as Utah, but a strong solar storm happened to arrive on the one night we were camped in a stunning backcountry spot!

After Utah, we drove west towards California to spend Thanksgiving with Becca’s family. I was able to get out for a few nice trips with friends, family, and solo, including a fun sunset excursion with Alex to Point Pedro in Pacifica, CA.

After even more travel in December, I finished off 2025 in my favorite place, back at home in Washington. Despite an abysmal start to the ski season, Eric and I made the most of a high pressure system with a New Years Eve ski descent in glorious weather of the Nisqually Glacier in Mount Rainier National Park, checking out a new line that neither of us had skied before. We are so lucky to live someplace with such beautiful mountains nearby!

Gallery: California Coast (and some bonus road trip photos)

Galen Weld January 2, 2026

Happy New Year! It’s been a busy past few weeks so I’m still catching up on photos, but I wanted to share a grab bag of shots from back in November, when Becca and I drove from Utah to the Bay Area for Thanksgiving before heading back north to Seattle.

As always, let me know what you think!

On our way out of Salt Lake City, we caught this absolutely stunning sunrise over the Great Salt Lake from Stansbury Island.

The Stansbury Mountains at sunrise, from the shore of Stansbury Bay

The snowpack was pretty grim at Donner Summit when we drove through, but we still got out of the car to stretch our legs with a very mellow ski tour up to get a view of Castle Peak.

Four Mile Beach outside of Santa Cruz, during a nice family outing before Thanksgiving

Dad and I had fun photographing the surf in this blowhole-esque feature on the coast

After Thanksgiving Alex and I explored Pedro Point at sunset, just outside of Pacifica

The Point Bonita lighthouse at dawn in the Marin Headlands, on my early morning departure from San Francisco

Sutro Tower at sunrise from across the Golden Gate

A lone tree grows out of the lava flows next to Davis Lake, in Central Oregon

Wahclella Falls in the Columbia River Gorge

Gallery: Miscellaneous Shenanigans in and around Moab

Galen Weld December 14, 2025

It’s been a busy past few weeks with work, travel, and the holidays, so I promise this is my last post from our trip to Moab. I wrote earlier about some great mountain biking and an amazing backpacking trip where we saw the aurora, but in the two weeks or so we were in southeast Utah, we also did a bunch of shorter trips that don’t warrant their own post. So, without further ado, are a few more photos from various hikes, sunsets, sunrises, and other shenanigans.

Have a very merry Christmas, and as always, get in touch!

Fading evening light on Seahorse Reef, outside of Green River

Helene and Adam on a simul rap in U-Turn Canyon

The rising full moon at Arches National Park

The La Sal Mountains at sunset, with sandstone towers in the foreground. A classic Arches view.

A gnarled, bleached tree at dusk in Arches

Becca on a stunning free rappel with Looking Glass Arch behind her

Adam swinging on the big rappel at Looking Glass Arch

Canyon walls along the Kestrel Run trail at Sand Flats

Afternoon light on a lone tree along the Slickrock Trail

Sandstone formations near Partition Arch, Arches National Park

Sandstone fins in front of the La Sals along the Devils Garden Trail

A spectacular sunset at the Devils Garden Campground, with the La Sals in the distance

Yellow cottonwoods at Morning Glory Arch

More cottonwoods along the Colorado, downstream of town

A less common view of Double Arch (in the distance), Arches National Park

The La Sals and the Colorado River valley at sunset from Island in the Sky

Trip Report: Watching the Aurora from Canyonland's Needles District

Galen Weld November 26, 2025

Earlier this month, as part of our longer trip to southeast Utah, Adam, Helene, Becca, and I decided we wanted to go for a quick backpacking trip, and the Needles District of Canyonlands National Park was an accessible choice. Adam and I hadn’t been there since were probably 5 or 6 years old, so we set out for an easy overnight to Chesler Park, a backcountry meadow ringed on all sides by beautiful sandstone formations. By a complete and utter stroke of luck, we ended up having the area entirely to ourselves as a big solar storm caused the Aurora to be visible all the way down in southeast Utah, and the conditions for viewing were perfect: clear, dry skies, a new moon, and a stunning landscape. However, watching the northern lights was just one memorable highlight from a great trip that included fun explorations of Druid Arch and the Joint Trail, a section of trail that passes through some incredibly fractured canyons on the southern margin of Chesler Park.

Becca and I had to work on Monday, so Adam and Helene went ahead for an extra night of camping, with plans to meet a few miles from the trailhead Tuesday morning. Becca and I drove down after dark and camped at the Needles Campground for an early start. I had fun scampering around on the sandstone domes above the campground for sunrise, then we threw on our packs and walked up Wooden Shoe Canyon where we bumped into Adam and Helene at the predesignated spot without issue.

A slickrock garden patch near the Needles Campground at sunrise

Reunited, we headed up Wooden Shoe Canyon, following the Park Service trail over a small pass and into a tributary of Elephant Canyon, poking our heads up a few side canyons on the way. Adam and I decided it would be fun to try and find our way off trail down into Elephant Canyon, and we had a great time walking along slickrock, end running canyons, and ultimately scrambling down into the Elephant Canyon right next to the trail leading over to Chesler Park. We dropped our overnight gear here, and took light packs for our afternoon side trip up to Druid Arch.

Peering into a chasm in Wooden Shoe Canyon

Practicing slab technique in a side canyon off Wooden Shoe

Becca on the slickrock above Elephant Canyon

There were plenty of day hikers heading out as we made our way up Elephant Canyon, but by the time we arrived at Druid Arch, we had the whole place to ourselves. The arch is truly striking, and I had a bit too much fun scrambling upcanyon to the back side of the arch in pursuit of more angles to photograph from. In my excitement, I jumped down a steep section of slickrock without realizing that it was quite hard to reverse the downclimb. After snapping my picture, I quickly realized I had trapped myself on an isolated block of rock with no way off - steep cliffs on three sides, and the irreversible downclimb on the fourth. After a few desperate run-and-jump failures, I did what any younger brother would—I yelled to Adam to come help me. Adam made his way over to inspect my shameful predicament, and, after gleefully photographing my stuck self, we made a plan. Adam would crouch at the top of the downclimb, and I would run and jump, reaching as high as I could to grab onto him to steady myself before climbing back up the slab. It was a great plan: the only way that this could make the situation worse was if I pulled Adam off his stance and got him stuck with me, which, naturally is exactly what happened. With a partner assist and some good, old-fashioned Weld boys ingenuity, we both made it back up unscathed and with a funny story to tell.

Druid Arch at the head of Elephant Canyon, taken from the spot from which Adam had to rescue me.

This whole escapade had cost us about 45 minutes, and Adam and I hurried downcanyon to catch the ladies, stopping to fill water on the way. I kicked myself for messing up the sunset timing, but we still got a few views as we climbed out of Elephant Canyon and entered Chesler Park as it was getting dark. We set up camp at one of the designated Park Service sites under a sandstone outcropping, and I put my camera on my tripod to take a few more photos in the dying light. Looking on my camera’s screen, I saw a weird red glow in the sky to north, not yet visible to the naked eye. It was in the wrong direction to be the lingering sunset… what could it be? A distant wildfire? Light pollution? I walked over to the other side of the rock and climbed up to get a better view, and as it got darker, it became clear we were looking at the Aurora, brilliantly red, with hints of green and purple, shimmering almost imperceptibly. We all took our dinner up high onto the slickrock to stargaze under the northern lights and Milky Way, then after dinner I had a grand time running around the Park, climbing onto rock formations to get better views and different angles to photograph. It was truly one of the most amazing camping moments I’ve experienced.

Adam near our camp, silhouetted by his own headlamp, under the northern lights.

Chesler Park and its sandstone formations under the Milky Way and the Aurora. This is a panorama stitched from 24 frames, each a 20 second exposure.

The next morning, still thrilled by the previous night’s display, we set out to explore the Joint Trail, which cuts through some incredible natural fissures in the rock as it slinks out of Chesler Park to the south. We all had a ton of fun exploring the caves, side passages, and slots along the short trail, with lots of opportunities for stemming up high and crawling through narrow passages. We headed back to our camp to discover that we had been ransacked by Ravens… Canyonlands Ravens know how to open zippers!

Chesler Park in the morning light, looking across the Colorado River to the Maze District in the distance

Group photo above the Joint Trail, with Chesler Park in the background

Adam, Helene, and Becca walking along one of the side passages along the Joint Trail

Becca exploring caves along the Joint Trail

We cleaned up our camp, and headed back towards the Needles Campground, completing our loop by exiting via Big Shoe Canyon. A great trip!

Trip Report: Mountain Biking (Some of) Moab's Classic Trails

Galen Weld November 22, 2025

Becca and I just finished up two weeks in Moab. It was a very multisport trip, but we had a great time riding some classic trails with some great friends. We had lovely weather, good fun, and everyone rode fabulously, no matter their experience level!

We started off riding the Slickrock Trail, a rolling, cross-country style trail that is one of the oldest mountain bike trails in the area and a true classic. With some short but punchy climbs, it offered a great intro to riding on slickrock (very different from the loam of the PNW!) and fun opportunities to explore.

Mack looks on as Helene descends a steeper section of the Slickrock Trail

Becca leads the group with the La Sal mountains in the background and endless sandstone on the Slickrock Trail

Becca looking cool riding past a pothole full from recent rains

Adam getting some air on a fun feature towards the end of our ride on the Slickrock Trail

With a bit more daylight left, the less tired of us headed up to ride two nearby trails on the “Raptor Route:” Falcon Flow and Kestrel Run. It was super cool riding in the evening sun, starting up high on the canyon rim before dropping down into a chilly, narrow canyon in the lower half of Kestrel Run.

Louis hitting a drop on Falcon Flow in the evening sun

The next day we set out for another of Moab’s most famous rides: The Whole Enchilada, which starts high above town in the La Sal mountains, descending through several different ecosystems before finishing with a last descent all the way down to the Colorado River right on the edge of town. Unfortunately, due to snow and ice up high, we couldn’t start all the way up top, but instead at the top of Hazard County. A few of us peddled back up a few miles towards Burro Pass to get a feel for the uppermost part of the Enchilada.

Any time Adam is involved, the hacky sack comes out, here for a pre-ride warm up at the trailhead.

Pedaling past Warner Lake in the La Sals, through gorgeous aspen forest

Dunlin getting boosted on Hazard County, with slickrock country inn the distance far below

Group photo on Porcupine Rim, far above Castle Valley. The trail winds along the valley rim for miles before descending to the Colorado

Plenty of onlookers to encourage Dunlin as he rides the lower section of the infamous Snotch, the most challenging feature on the Whole Enchilada, as typically ridden.

Helene crushing singletrack on LPS, with Castle Valley in the distance

Louis dominating a drop on the doubletrack portion of the Porcupine Rim trail

Adam and Louis nail the timing on parallel drops as we get closer to the Colorado

Mack and Dunlin descending the beautiful final section of the trail above the Colorado River

Adam is all smiles as the moon rises just above the end of the trail

After a break for some other activities (more on that soon!), Adam, Helene, Becca, and I all headed up to Navajo Rocks for a quick ride on our last afternoon in the desert. Navajo Rocks has some great loop options that Adam and I really enjoyed riding the last time we were in the area.

Helene and Becca rolling through the slickrock on Big Mesa

Adam reminding me of his superior manual skills on Ramblin’

Gallery: Lucky Weather on Iceland's South Coast

Galen Weld November 17, 2025

On the way back from Norway at the end of October, I spent 3 days in Iceland with my Dad traveling on the south coast. I’ve been to Iceland a few times before, but always in June, so I was excited to see the country in the late fall. As it turned out, Dad and I got spectacularly lucky with the weather, with stunningly clear sunny days, amazing ice formations, and a bit of fresh snow on our last day. We had a ton of fun exploring some places that we’d been to before, as well as several new spots. I took over 1,500 photos in 3 days, but here are just a few of my favorites. As always, let me know what you think!

Dawn on the ocean just east of the town of Grindavik, shortly after picking Dad up from the airport.

Kleifarvatn Lake as seen from the inside of an icy lakeshore cave.

Dad and I had fun climbing up the hillside for a unique perspective of Uxafotafoss.

Ice along a small stream in the vast Skeidararjokull outflow plain

Ice and sility water on the river draining the Skaftafellsjokull, the glacier in the background.

Kristinartindar and a nice little waterfall, bathed in golden light, at Skaftafell National Park

The toe of the receding Skatafellsjokull (glacier)

Panorama of the Skatafellsjokull at dusk

Dad and I at the Skatafellsjokull overlook. It was a stunningly clear evening!

Sunrise on the icy shore of Fjallsarlon, with the Fjallsjokull in the background.

Ice “boulders” on the beach at the super-famous Jokullsarlon

Skutafoss with ice around the bases of the falls

Mountains and the bay seen from Hvalnes Point

Snow-covered braided channels along the Mulakvisl

Dad and I at Nauthusagil, after hopping from bank to bank up the amazing canyon

Fresh snow covering the lava below Lambafellshnukur

Gallery: Autumn on Norway's West Coast

Galen Weld October 31, 2025

Last week, I presented a paper at CSCW in Bergen, Norway. I arrived a few days early to spend a bit of time sightseeing around Bergen. The fall foliage was stunning and better than I expected, the fjords were gorgeous, and the civil engineering accomplishment of building a highway system with countless bridges and tunnels was impressive to witness. I did a few short hikes but mostly just faffed around close to the road. Let me know what you think!

Osterfjorden in the afternoon light, from the road to Molvik

Stallbotnen from rock slabs on the trail up Austlendingen

Dusk on the way back down Austledingen (I didn’t go all the way to the summit)

Waterfalls and an old building on Osteroy Island seen while looking across the Veafjorden

Clouds and an autumn scene in the Myrkdalselvi Valley

Misty creek on the Finnbufjellet Plateau at dusk

Dawn along the Erdalselvi Valley, which carries the old Bergen-Oslo Highway that has since been replaced by the Laerdal Tunnel, the longest road tunnel in the world.

Morning sunlight on the mountains above Flotvatnet

Aurlandsvangen and Aurlandsfjorden from the old highway

Vassbygdebatnet sits below the massive waterfall on Grimsetelvi, which the highway climbs in 5 spiral tunnels

A smaller waterfall higher on Grimsetelvi

One of countless waterfalls in the Flamsdalen Valley

And another waterfall in the Flamsdalen Valley

A waterfall and pool on Flamselvi, in the bottom of the valley

Gallery: Fall Foliage in the Catskills

Galen Weld October 27, 2025

Fresh off my ski trip up to Crater Lake, I hopped on a redeye flight to NYC as I started making my way to Europe to attend CSCW. My first stop was the Hudson Valley and the Catskills, where I spent a brief 36 hours gallivanting around snapping pictures and linking up with two of my good Seattle friends. Driving out of the city, I stopped by Minnewaska State Park for a few hours before heading up to the Kaaterskill Falls area for sunset and sunrise before heading back to Bear Mountain before heading back to the airport. I got super lucky with the weather and had a great time!

Lookin down from the top of Awosting Falls

Looking towards Shawangunk Ridge from Peters Kill

Morning light on the trees in Kaaterskill Clove

The Bear Mountain Bridge over the Hudson from… Bear Mountain

The New York City skyline from Bear Mountain.

Trip Report: Early Season Skiing in the Larches above Crater Lake (not the Oregon one)

Galen Weld October 22, 2025

The past 10 days have been a photographic and travel whirlwind, starting in Washington and ending in Iceland, with many stops along the way. I’m excited to share more pictures soon, but for starters the first leg of the craziness was an early season ski trip in the Sawtooth mountains east of Lake Chelan.

I had wanted to do another trip to get some more Washington fall in before being out of the state for a bunch of travel, and the Sawtooths are a great place to hang out in the larches. But once the the first big early season snow storm popped up in the forecast, I figured it was time to pull out the skis. There was a twist though: of everywhere in the state, the place forecasted to get the most snow was… the Sawtooths, with the National Weather service calling for 20 or more inches on Sunday! This seemed a bit fantastical to me, but in retrospect I think it was probably spot on.

Monday morning I headed up 153 with a decidedly minimal plan. It was still pretty cloudy, but the forecast called for clearing as the day went on. I headed up the Gold Creek road and pretty quickly ran into snow, then pretty quickly got a flat tire. Booo to changing out the spare in the cold slushy mud. I continued up to the trailhead, which was deserted, with only one or two other cars. There were 4+ inches of snow on the ground at the trailhead, so I felt optimistic about my skiing ability, and I was able to ski all the way from the car. I had initially been toying with the notion of going to Cooney or Eagle Lakes, but I wasn’t sure how quickly I’d be moving with the snow, so I took the conservative option of heading up the Crater Lake trail, which was completely untraveled. It was easy skinning up the trail, but still slow going, breaking trail through a bunch of fresh snow, and with my flat tire delay and slow start I didn’t reach lower Crater Lake until almost 3:30 pm.

Partially-frozen lower Crater Lake, with larches mixed into the forest and the south side of the Crater Creek valley in the background.

I took a quick break, filled water, and waffled about the right strategy. It seemed fun to try and summit either Bigelow or Libby, but I didn’t have much daylight and wasn’t sure how quickly I’d move. Once again, I took what I thought was the conservative strategy, and decided to head to the Crater Peak-Libby col, which seemed like the easiest point to gain the crest of the ridge for views to the west. I ‘schwacked around the lake and continued through slow, brush forest before getting on easier terrain as I approached the talus near treeline. Skirting the edge of the talus, I climbed up to the col without skiing on too many rocks and without too much trouble, passing through some beautiful larch forest.

Looking back east from just below the Crater-Libby Col, with lower Crater Lake in the distance below.

With about an hour until sunset, I decided I’d try and climb up the ridge towards Crater Peak, for a nicer vantage point. In the summer, this would be an easy talus scramble, but it was a different story in ski boots with 12+ inches of fresh snow. I strapped my skis to my pack and started what quickly became an absolute wallowfest. I skittered off icy rocks in my boots, postholed up to my chest in places where the snow had drifted between rocks. In 45 minutes I had made it barely 200 horizontal yards, so I decided to bail and retrace my steps to back to the col. It hadn’t cleared up quite as much as I had hoped, but it was still a lovely sunset, with nice views to the west over the Buttermilk Creek drainage.

Evening sunlight on the larches below the North Ridge of Crater Peak, looking down towards Buttermilk Creek. Star in the clouds behind Seance.

Bigelow’s western subsummit at dusk, with Hoodoo Pass hidden behind, and the snow in the foregrounded covered in larch needles.

After it got dark, I pulled out my trusty bivy sack and trompled out a flattish spot just below the ridge before hunkering down to get out of the wind. I made dinner and settled in for a properly chilly night - I’d guess it was in the upper teens based on how it felt and the WA pass weather station. When I woke up after a not-too-cozy night at first light, it was crystal clear (and cold!) bluebird morning. I struggled to cram my feet into my frozen-solid ski boots and started snapping photos of the amazing sunrise and light on the larches.

The Buttermilk Creek valley at dawn, with Star and Oval to the right, and Earth’s shadow clearly visible above the horizon.

The sun pops over the horizon to the east, with lower Crater Lake frozen over in the valley below.

Raven Ridge and Libby Peak to the north, lit with brilliant morning light that made the larches pop.

Seance Peak (Pt. 8067) catches the first rays of the rising sun while Star Peak, taller and farther away, remains shaded by Raven Ridge.

Larches above lower Crater Lake look amazing when backlit by the rising sun.

Gorgeous larches on the south ridge of Libby Peak.

The eastern subsummit of Bigelow (Pt. 7890) looms over larches above Crater Lake.

Morning light on the rocky ridge above my campsite, with lower Crater Lake below.

Once it felt like I was just taking the same pictures over and over again, I headed back to camp to make breakfast and pack up. With the cold overnight weather, all the water I had carried up from the lake had frozen solid, and I ran out of fuel melting snow, so I finished my hot cocoa and decided to scram. I packed up, clicked into my skis, and started gingerly skiing down towards Crater Lake. It was stunning skiing among the larches, but I did hit rocks at just about every turn—still worth it. A but lower, the skiing got better, and I threw my skins back on to ski through the brushy forest. On the way out I went around the south side of Crater Lake, which was much easier going than the north side. The lake was noticeably more frozen-over than it had been the day before, and I snapped a few more pictures before ripping skins for the final ski down the trail. It was a bit flat in spots, a bit exciting in others, and before long I was back at my car. I drove down into Twisp where the nice folks at Les Schwab fixed my flat for free, and then I drove back to the west side over beautiful snowy Highway 20 and had just a few hours to unpack and repack before going to the airport to catch my red-eye to NYC and eventually Norway. More on that soon!

One of the last patches of open water along the shore of lower Crater Lake. Crater Peak in the distance - I camped at the saddle to the right.

Fun and fast skiing down the Crater Lake trail back to the car.

Gallery: Mount Pilchuck and Wallace Falls

Galen Weld October 19, 2025

I’ve been trying to take some time off after my defense, but somehow I seem busier than ever. Last week I was hoping to get out for a bigger trip, but only had a little bit of time here and there, so headed to some places nearby Seattle. Mount Pilchuck is a classic, but I hadn’t been up it since high school. With only a few hours until sunset, I drove up the Mountain Loop and was rewarded with a really nice sunset with some dramatic light. Later that week I went for an hour or two to Wallace Falls, a familiar spot, but every time I visit I am reminded how pleasant it is in the forest.

Mount Pilchuck casts a shadow down the Stillaguamish Valley

The Pilchuck Lookout and the setting sun (yes I have since cleaned my filter)

Dramatic light and rain squalls on Whitehorse and Three Fingers.

Dusk over Possession Sound, Puget Sound, and the Olympics

The Twin Sisters and Mount Baker to the north

A detail of the top of Middle Wallace Falls

Looking downstream at Deception Falls, a bit further along Route 2 past Skykomish.

Gallery: Autumn Color in the Methow

Galen Weld October 17, 2025

The first weekend in October, my family went to the Methow to belatedly celebrate Dad’s birthday. We got super lucky with the weather: crisp and clear, with a fresh dusting of snow up high and the larches nearing peak color. It was super nice to spend time with family, see some friends, and do a bunch of different activities: bouldering, mountain biking, hiking, and a quick overnight to Copper Glance Lake. Here are a few pictures from the weekend!

Adam, Becca, and Dad riding along the Buck Mountain Loop

Becca ripping down the final descent on the Buck Mountain Loop

Morning light on Golden Horn with a fresh dusting of snow, from Slate Pass

Clouds blowing over the Slate Peak Lookout

Becca on the trail to Copper Glance Lake

Kiva staying cozy in her coat at Copper Glance Lake

Larches catch the morning light high on Sherman Peak

Larch forest carpeted with crimson blueberries above Harts Pass

Slate Peak in the distance at sunrise, above Harts Pass

Morning light on Silver Star Mountain, with larches in the foreground

Morning light on Cone Mountain, with Silver Star in the distance.

Trip Report: Bears Breast "Mega-Slab"

Galen Weld October 11, 2025

Two weeks ago, I headed out with Matt and Anton to climb Bears Breast Mountain, a spiky peak right on the Cascade Crest in the heart of the Alpine Lakes Wilderness. Bears Breast had intrigued all three of us: it was one of the few summits Anton hadn’t climbed along the jagged ridge running from Snoqualmie Pass all the way to Mount Daniel. Matt and I had both separately looked over at Bears Breast from Hinman and Daniel earlier this summer, and it looked like a fun climb. Bears Breast is also notable for an unusual geologic feature: its southeast face holds a clean and continuously steep sandstone slab that stretches about 3,000 vertical feet from the base of the mountain at Shovel Creek all the way to just below the summit. This is one of the taller slabs in the lower 48, and there’s also very little sandstone in the Cascades, so it seemed like a doubly cool route to take to the summit.

We planned to climb in a single day. It’s a long way in to Bears Breast, no matter which way you come in, but we decided to come in along the Waptus River from Salmon La Sac, with 12 flat miles one way to reach the base of the mountain. After one last practice talk for my defense, I drove out to Cle Elum to link up with Matt and Anton, and we camped at the trailhead for an early start. We started hiking about an hour and a half before first light. The approach went pretty quickly in the dark, and we had a lovely sunrise somewhere along the river valley. Just after it got light, we startled a rabbit on the trail, which ran towards us, smacking into each of our feet in turn, then it turned around and smacked back into us on the way back. I think I was more startled than the rabbit!

Matt managing to keep his feet dry crossing the Waptus River, with some wisps of fog clinging to the water in the chilly morning.

We reached Waptus Lake just as the morning light was lighting up a nice view of Bears Breast through the hazy sky. The handful of parties camped near the lakeshore were just about the only people we saw all day. We continued around the lake to hit the PCT, then continued a few miles further to the bridge over the Waptus River before leaving the trail and following the east side of Shovel Creek.

The Cascade Crest from Waptus Lake, with Summit Chief, and its subsummits on the left, and Bears Breast looking spiky on the right.

An annotated view of our route up the mega-slab from the forest near where we left the PCT.

It took a bit of bushwhacking, but eventually we picked up a faint-in-places fisherman’s trail heading up towards Shovel Lake. On the way out, we realized that a more-defined trail leaves the PCT earlier than we had, where the trail makes a defined turn to the west about .4 miles before it hits the Waptus River. We followed the trail through open forest until it started climbing up onto a bench above the east side of the creek around 3,400 feet. When the bench ended, we dropped fifty feet out of the forest and into talus near the creek. Here the tread disappeared into the rocks, and we just boulder-hopped easily through open terrain to reach the base of the slabs, stopping to fill up water. It was a beautiful morning with fall colors in the forest. We reached the base of the slab at its lowest point a bit before 10am, about 4.5 hours after leaving the car.

Anton and Matt near the base of the slab, summit far above.

We started climbing up the broad slab—it seems like it goes pretty much everywhere. The climbing was super fun and easy, and we did the whole thing in trail runners, only using our hands in a few spots. The scale of the terrain is huge. The slab is hundreds of yards wide, with a massive corner on the ridge, and only a few patches of vegetation. The only shame was how quickly the climb went by. After about an hour and twenty minutes we topped the slab out on the south shoulder of Bears Breast, about 600 vertical feet below the summit, with great (albeit hazy) views to the south.

Waptus Lake poking out as we near the top.

From the top of the slab, we needed to traverse around the west side of the mountain to reach the base of the easiest route up the final summit block. Rather than dropping a hundred feet to cross a gully, we traversed on some exposed scrambling up high, then walked up an easy heather bench for ~300 yards to reach the notch in the ridge immediately north of the summit. We dropped packs here, changed into rock shoes, and soloed up to the summit, accidentally making things a bit trickier by going too far climbers left at the start. When on route, the climbing was pretty easy but exposed and on chossy rock. The chimney itself was super fun, and it was easy above it to the true summit at 12:20.

Easy heather benches traversing to the notch north of the summit block.

Anton and Matt just below the chimney, with additional breasts (nipples?) in the distance.

Matt tackling the bottom of the chimney.

We downclimbed without any trouble, staying on easier terrain below the chimney than what we’d come up. It was nice to have rock shoes, but we didn’t feel like we needed the bit of rope we’d brought. We descended pretty much directly to Shovel Lake, descending loose dirt up high (would be more pleasant with snow earlier in the season) then lovely open slabs, then brush and cliff bands (moderately unpleasant) down low to reach Shovel Lake. It took us 1.5 hours from the base of the summit block to the lake, and I’m sure micronavigational optimizations could make this easier/faster.

Matt facing his nemesis: steep loose dirt.

Matt downclimbing dirty cliff bands above Shovel Lake

Bear tracks along the shore of Shovel Lake.

Once at Shovel Lake, we traversed around the shoreline then downclimbed the western side of the outlet (east goes too) then boulder-hopped down the valley (I don’t think there’s much of a trail here) until we were back at the base of the slabs where we’d filled water earlier, where I managed to break one of my brand new trekking poles. We picked up the trail as it climbed up to the bench, the followed it easily back to the PCT. Once on the official trail, we ran most of the many miles back to the car, which were surprisingly deserted. We reached the trailhead a bit before dark, and took a nice jump into the swimming hole before heading back home.

Nice fall colors along the Waptus River Trail for our run out.

This was a super fun climb that I think should get done more often - the first ascent was in 2005 and only about 7 or 8 parties have reported doing it in the summit register since then. Bears Breast as a whole seems to only get about 1 party per year. Matt liked the climb so much he went back and did it again the next weekend! And it’s worth noting that he just descended the ascent route up the slabs rather than messing with the route down to Shovel Lake. He said he preferred this strategy.

Gallery: Mount Ann Overnight

Galen Weld October 8, 2025

Two weeks ago, I snuck out for a quick overnight on Mount Ann, a beautiful summit right between Mount Shuksan and Mount Baker, making for amazing views in both directions. I’ve been up Mount Ann a few times in the winter, but never before in the summer, so I was excited to get out and see some fall foliage.

I was a bit late leaving town and as such was tight on time to make it up above Lake Ann before sunset, and I didn’t leave the car until after 5pm. I booked it over to Lake Ann and started climbing up the ridge towards Mount Ann, with amazing views of Shuksan and and Curtis Glacier. I did some stargazing from my homemade bivy sack near the false summit, then the next morning tagged the true summit (and saw a Ptarmigan nice and close) before cruising back to the trailhead.

Mount Baker at dusk. Mount Ann’s summit is to the right.

Milky Way panorama above Mount Shuksan, with Baker Lake at the right.

Sherman Peak and the crater below the summit of Baker

The Pipe Dream couloir drops straight down from the summit of Mount Ann…

…and the same view in the winter, taken when Matt and I skied it in 2023.

Lenticular clouds over Mount Baker, with Coleman Pinnacle in the foreground.

Trip Report: Tantalus Traverse

Galen Weld October 2, 2025

I’ve been a bit quiet as I’ve been working hard preparing for my PhD defense, which was on Tuesday. The good news—I passed! To celebrate, I want to tell you about a great trip I did with Austin, Matt, Becca, and Eric over Labor Day weekend. We completed the Tantalus Traverse, a north-to-south traverse over the Tantalus Range, a rugged part of the Coast Mountains in British Columbia right next to Squamish. Despite being only an hour or so from Vancouver, the Tantalus Range feels quite wild, rising straight from sea level to over 2,500 meters before dropping right back down on the other side. Surrounded by fjords, Tantalus has intrigued me for a long time, and one gets a great view of it every time you drive down the Sea to Sky from Whistler. Looking at maps, the extent of the wilderness in the Coast Mountains also captures my imagination: heading north from Tantalus, the Coast Mountains stretch for nearly 500 miles to the Alaskan border, and by my count there are only three highways in that entire stretch.

We thought there was a chance we could pull off the traverse in 2 days, but we brought 2.5 days worth of food in case we needed to camp a second night, which, it turns out, we did!

We drove up from Seattle and camped nearby for an early (or just earlier) start, which was still slow with some faffing setting up the car shuttle. We started up the Sigurd Creek trail a bit before 10am, climbing through steep forest for a few miles before crossing Sigurd Creek. The old bridge had washed out years earlier, so the four of us where about to pull our shoes to wade through the calf-deep water, but Matt, ever the construction manager, dragged a log out of the woods and threw it across the creek to make a rickety bridge.

Crossing Sigurd Creek on Matt’s makeshift bridge.

On the far side of the creek, we followed the trail for a bit further until it busted out of the treeline and crossed the lateral moraine coming down from the nameless (?) glacier on the north side of Ossa Mountain. We climbed up the moraine, and then up easy slabs, and a bit of mellow glacier, before crossing the north shoulder of Pelion Mountain, where we were rewarded with our first views of Tantalus herself, shrouded mysteriously in swirling clouds. We descended more slabs, snow patches, and talus to reach the high ridge linking Pelion to Tantlus, where we picked up a climber’s trail through lovely heather. We continued a bit past the low point on the ridge (Tantalus/Pelion col) before deciding to camp at a lovely tarn just below the ridgecrest.

Becca descending from the shoulder of Pelion, with Tantalus shrouded in clouds.

Slab scampering towards the Tantalus/Pelion col, with Tantalus lurking.

We took a quick dip in the tarn and had a lovely evening hanging out at camp and watching the sunset. The views were amazing, even if we couldn’t actually see the true summit of Tantalus, which was hidden behind a subsummit at the end of the long North Ridge. The next morning, we got up at first light and got off not too much later, continuing along the climbers trail and staying below the ridge crest on the west side to bypass two little bumps before regaining the ridge at the northernmost margin of the Rumbling Glacier.

Pelion looking pretty in the morning light.

Matt and Austin at our camp, with the summits of Garibaldi Park glowing in the slightly smoky sunrise.

Mount Tantalus and the quasi-detached northernmost lobe of the Rumbling Glacier. This isn’t even the true summit of Tatnlus, just the northernmost end of the mile-long North Ridge.

Leaving camp with Pelion in the sun in the background.

We climbed up the glacier, weaving carefully through late-season cracks and a ‘schrund to get back on the rock. A few dozen meters of loose but easy rock led to a ~2,100 meter notch at the north end of the North Ridge, and here we crossed back on to the west side of the range, staying low on easy snow for about 1/3 of a mile to bypass some rock. This snow led easily back to the ridge crest at about 2,200 feet, where we got on the North Ridge in earnest. The half mile or so of ridge was delightful, mostly easy and beautifully exposed scrambling, right on the ridge crest, with a few thoughtful spots bypassing a handful of notches, minor gendarmes, and snow patches.

Austin climbing up easy snow on the west side of the North Ridge, with Ossa and Pelion in the background.

The North Ridge stretching onwards to Tantalus’ summit, with the gorgeous Rumbling Glacier on the left. Spot Austin on the ridge crest at the bottom of the frame.

Two strategies for bypassing a snow patch: Becca, the rock climber, elegantly takes the snow, while Austin, the ice climber, grovels in the moat.

This first stretch of ridge went fairly quickly, and before long, the summit of Tantalus was looking much closer. At around 2,400 meters, 200 meters below the summit, the Rumbling Glacier rises all the way to the ridge crest, inserting two short sections of snow and ice into our path to the summit. The first one was pretty easy to cross with a not-too-bad moat and gentle snow, but the second one was quite a bit steeper, with a deep and wide moat at this point in the season (early September). Here we whipped out the rope, belayed folks across a nubbin of snow that bridged the moat. We climbed up the steep snow back to the ridge crest, got back onto the rock on the far side without much trouble, and climbed some steep and dirty but easy rock to surmount the next step on the ridge. From there, it was easy and beautifully exposed scrambling to hit the standard ascent route (and rap anchors) just below the summit, which we scrambled up to at 14:00, 6.5 hours from camp.

Eric crossing the deep moat to get onto the Rumbling Glacier

Becca on some amazing exposed (but easy) scrambling close to the summit of Tantalus. Alpha Mountain at left.

Eric just below the summit of Tantalus, with Serratus behind him and Alpha at left. The party of the three on the snow is the only other group we saw on the whole traverse. They climbed Dionne.

Cognizant that we still had a long way to go, we started our descent, downclimbing past several rap stations and making a total of four rappels with a single 60 meter rope. With five people in the group and only one rope, this part was definitely slow, but the views were amazing, particularly the incredible Witch’s Tooth spire.

Matt setting up a rappel in front of the Witch’s Tooth.

After doing a bit more downclimbing to reach the snow, we continued along the ridge on easier terrain. I got my hopes up that it would be quick going from here all the way to the Haberl hut, but we had to do some more loose downclimbing to reach the Dione Glacier. Once on the glacier, it was only about 1.5 miles to the hut, but with lots small ups and downs, this part dragged a bit. We finally reached the hut at 19:00, only an hour before sunset, and with 7,000 vertical feet of nontrivial descending remaining, it became pretty clear we were going to be camping for a second night. We faffed around a bit looking for a descent camp site, and found one with running water not too far from the hut. Just as the sun dropped below the horizon, it started raining torrentially, and thankfully the downpour stopped as quickly as it started, which was a relief. None of us were looking forward to the prospect of spending a rainy night in our bivies. The excitement for the evening wasn’t over, however, as a thunderstorm formed in the dark and rolled over the area, with a few roars of thunder that felt right over head. We watched with sympathy the headlamps of a party descending Serratus in the dark, rainy, and lightning-studded night. There were a few more brief showers, but thankfully it never really rained too much more. We woke up the next morning, slightly soggy, and packed off for our last push down to the Squamish River, far below.

Eric above the Dione Glacier, which we are about to descend to.

Becca and I in our homemade camping quilts the morning after the thunderstorm.

From camp, we set off traversing around the west side of Serratus, making our way towards the key col immediately south of Serratus that would let us descend to the east towards Lake Lovely Water. The going was never too difficult, but with lots of exposed ice and rock slabs, there were many crampon-on crampon-off transitions which made for slow going. Eventually we reached the notch (and the warming rays of the morning sun) and were faced with one last steep snow descent that posed more of a challenge to the less surefooted among us.

Eric looking small as he traverses above exposed ice on the southwest side of Serratus.

Austin and Matt descending steep snow on the west side of the range, with Lydia, Pandareus, and Ionia Mountains (from left to right, far to near) across the Crescent Glacier.

Below the notch, more slabs and some easy snow led us to the steep heather slopes that descend to the valley bottom. We walked/plunged/tumbled down the heather, hand-over-handing down brush at times, and did a touch more downclimbing and talus hopping to finally reach the valley floor in a hanging basin at 1,400 meters or so. On the far side of the basin we picked up the blazed and easy-to-follow trail down to Lambda Lake, and then down to the steep shore of Lake Lovely Water, which is aptly named. The lake is huge and gorgeous, and Matt and Becca were thrilled to take a quick swim before the descent to the Squamish River.

Becca descending a particularly steep, muddy, and brushy section of vegetation.

Matt emerging like a swamp creature from Lake Lovely Water. Lydia, Pandareus, and Ionia across the lake.

From Lake Lovely Water, we had merely to follow the trail down 3,700 vertical feet in under 3 miles to the Squamish River. The trail follows the lake outlet creek, which is essentially a continuous series of cascades all the way down to sea level, surrounded by classic lush PNW forest. It was a beautiful ambiance, even if many of us were ready to be done at this point. But we weren’t done, we had one final challenge: to cross the wide Squamish River in order to get back to our car. Our plan was to haul ourselves along the cable for the Water Survey of Canada cable car, which is a classic way to finish a Tantalus traverse. Matt and Austin had gone on a few minutes ahead, and by the time we reached the riverbank, we couldn’t see them anywhere. We did, however, hear plenty of shrieks of entertainment/horror, and we bashed through the brush to the edge of the river and looked up to find them both clipped to the cable, 50 feet above the river, swinging back and forth comedically. It was awesome to watch them struggle as we knew that we would soon be in their position. Becca and I clipped in to the cable and made our way across with Eric as the boys went ahead to get the car. It was an exhausting, hilarious, and memorable way to finish a great trip.

Lovely cascades along the Lake Lovely Water outlet.

Matt and Austin, high above the Squamish River, swaying back and forth as they attempt to cross the cable to the far side.

Trip Report: A White Chuck White Out

Galen Weld September 5, 2025

Twoish weeks ago, Helene and I snuck out for a little mid-week excursion to climb Whitechuck Mountain, the northernmost of a chain of spiky summits that extends from the Monte Cristo group to the Suiattle river. Whitechuck has many logging roads on it, meaning you can drive to almost 5,000 feet, making it an ideal quick climb with easy access and great views (assuming clear weather, an assumption that didn’t entirely hold for us).

We set out from Seattle just past 5pm on Monday evening, cognizant of the earlier and earlier sunsets as we cruise towards autumn. After bumping our way up Forest Service Road 2435, we started hiking with just an hour of daylight left, and just a few hundred vertical feet of clearance between us and a thick cloud ceiling above us.

Helene inspecting the remotely-operated snow height gauge and weather station installed by the Northwest Avalanche Center.

We hiked along the crest of the gentle Northwest Ridge of Whitechuck. With the clouds just above us, there was a brief but dramatic sunset, with the bottom of the clouds glowing orange through the trees. The views from the ridge were lovely, and before long we dropped off the ridge as it steepened and entered the talus basin to the west of the summit. Here we made a brief detour from the climbing route, hopping talus to find a small tarn that I hoped would make for a pleasant campsite and nice views at sunrise. Darkness fell as we climbed into the clouds, and our headlamps illuminated beams of fog. We found the tarn and a nice place to camp, quiet in the clouds, and I fell asleep hoping we wouldn’t be too socked in in the morning.

Helene and a cool rock outcropping along the NW ridge trail.

Boulder hoping by headlamp on the way to our campsite.

We woke up to a beautiful, crystal clear dawn, with a few lingering blobs of clouds hanging around the summits to the south. We had a fun time scampering around taking photos and finding not only a few mountain goats, but a few game cameras placed by the Tulalip Tribe to track said goats.

Pugh and Sloan Peak at dawn, with the Monte Cristo summits partially obscured by trees at the right.

Dorado Needle and Eldorado to the northeast, an intriguing angle.

Glacier Peak to the east, with a cool rock pinnacle on Whitechuck’s SE ridge in the foreground.

The 10-second self-timer strikes again - despite Helene’s assistance I wasn’t quite fast enough.

Second time’s the charm for this self-portrait of Helene and I, with Pugh in the center of the image, Sloan looking spiky to the right, and the Monte Cristo Peaks to the right of that. Forgotten Peak closer at far right, with Del Campo and Rainier faintly visible behind it.

We returned to camp and packed up, then made our way back to the climbers’ route up Whitechuck, much quicker going in the daytime. We dropped our overnight gear at the base of the gully descending from the saddle between the NW and main peaks, and started climbing. Despite being quite spiky, the standard route up Whitechuck is mostly a walk-up with a few spots of very easy scrambling. As we climbed, clouds built over the summit above us, and pretty soon we climbed up into them, making for an atmospheric final scramble to the true summit.

This ground squirrel was enjoying salad for brunch. Thanks to everyone who responded to my last email with helpful pointers on rodent identification!

Helene on the way up Whitechuck, with the Northwest Summit to the left, and Baker and Shuksan visible in the distance.

Whiteout on Whitechuck! Here Helene cruises the last “crux” just below the summit.

Descending the flower-filled gully on our way back to the trail.

Despite the lack of mountaintop views, we had a grand time filling out the summit register before heading back down to the trail, cruising back to the car, and blasting straight to work.

Trip Report: Cowlitz Chicken and the Patient Banshee

Galen Weld August 29, 2025

Two weeks ago, Matt and I set out for some shenanigans in Mount Rainier National Park. I only had one day, and I haven’t spent much time in the park this year, so I thought it would be fun to try and climb Banshee Peak and the Cowlitz Chimneys as a through-hike along the Wonderland Trail, starting at Fryingpan Creek and finishing at Ohanapecosh. Prominently visible from Crystal Mountain, the Cowlitz Chimneys have always intrigued me, and this trip would let us go light and cover some distance, while doing some easy cross country travel and a tasteful amount of scrambling to bag two summits with nice views. Or so I thought.

In practice, we had whiteout weather with “atmospheric” views, and my knee issues kept me from summiting Cowlitz Chimneys (hence I am the Cowlitz Chicken), but Matt had the patience of a saint (the Patient Banshee) and we were even able to run the last few miles - still a great trip!

We dropped Matt’s truck at Ohanapecosh and headed back over Cayuse Pass to the Fryingpan Creek Trailhead before sunrise, where we enjoyed watching a true clownshow of parallel parking attempts while we enjoyed breakfast. Under overcast skies, we busted up the Wonderland Trail to Summerland, where the clouds accentuated the color of the wildflowers, which were still going strong for mid-August. We reached a socked-in Panhandle Gap (the highest point on the Wonderland Trail, which circumnavigates Mount Rainier) and set off cross-country, aiming (with some compass assistance) for Banshee Peak.

Matt is the nicest guy you could hope to run into on the trail, he’s thrilled to take your photo.

Genuinely unsure if this little guy is a Pika or a rodent, either way he was cute. Maybe one of y’all can correct me.

Meany Crest looking murky in the clouds.

Matt doing some classic moat-groveling on the Wonderland Trail (still snowcovered!) just below Panhandle Gap.

The meadows in the mist were gorgeous (in a moody sort of way), and the off trail travel was easy, but unfortunately, as we neared the summit of Banshee Peak, my knee started hurting again - quite frustrating after a good number of more difficult trips over rougher terrain without incident. We reached the summit of Banshee Peak, still totally socked in, but I decided to bail on the Cowlitz Chimneys to minimize the amount of off trail travel. The silver lining is that when I eventually do go back for it, hopefully I’ll be able to actually see something!

Heading off the Wonderland Trail towards Banshee Peak, hidden in the clouds.

Matt and I on the summit of Banshee Peak, with the Cowlitz Chimneys hiding in the clouds behind us.

The Sarvant Glacier in the fog below Banshee Peak, looking like it’s only got a few years left :(

I desperately tried to talk Matt into tagging the Chimneys and catching me up, but he would have none of it. So, we started heading back towards the Wonderland Trail, going slowly through the mist. We made it back to Panhandle Gap and continued south, following the trail as it wraps around the headwaters of the Ohanapecosh River. I felt badly that after pitching Matt on a “trail run” I was barely keeping a decent walking pace, but Matt, like an overly-loyal dog, was content to trot a few paces ahead of me, occasionally stopping to look over his shoulder to see how far I had fallen behind.

Matt using his sniffer to find the route back to Panhandle Gap in the fog

Matt trotting ahead of me on the Wonderland Trail

Ever notice how Matt is ahead of me in every single one of these pictures?

By the time we got near Indian Bar, we had descended below the clouds, and we got some lovely territorial views, along with beautiful flowers. The stretch of the trail along the Cowlitz Divide was gorgeous and perfect for running, and after a few false-starts, we were able to run the last few miles back down to Ohanapecosh and Matt’s truck. While it was disappointing to bail on the Cowlitz Chimneys, it was still a great day out in the mountains, and I’m lucky to have a great friend like Matt to spend time with.

Dropping below the clouds on our way down to Indian Bar

These creeks emerged straight out of the cliffs below the Ohanapecosh Glacier

Matt looking casual on the Cowlitz Divide trail

Trip Report: Camping on Pilot Ridge Loop

Galen Weld August 27, 2025

Not adequately tuckered by an ascent of The Three Dicks in the first half of the weekend, I called up my buddy Marco and asked him to help tire me out. We set our sights on a quick hike of the Pilot Ridge Loop, a classic backpacking lollipop in the Glacier Peak Wilderness. The hike stays up high along the ridgetops for most of its length, and I was excited to go light and get some miles under our feet, while strolling through meadows with flowers and great views.

We left Seattle at a civilized hour on Sunday morning and rattled up the road to the North Fork Sauk Trailhead, then cruised through beautiful forest before powering up the switchbacks to the intersection with the PCT near White Pass. The meadows along the ridges are gorgeous, and as we worked our way south on the PCT, the views just kept getting better.

Marco on the PCT, the trail itself not visible through all the Hellebore. White Mountain above at left, and the very summit of Glacier Peak poking out at right.

Marco and flowers on the PCT south of White Pass.

After a few hours of pleasant romping, we reached Dishpan Gap, where we left the PCT and began climbing up towards Pt. 6562, where we got our first views of Blue Lake and Johnson Mountain, our tentative sunset viewpoint. Blue Lake was gorgeous, tucked in a steep-sided basin, and Marco even took a quick dip before we grabbed some water and headed up Johnson Mountain.

Marco taking a cheeky dip to cool off before heading up Johnson.

An hour or so before sunset, the light got absolutely gorgeous, and we had a grand time snapping countless pictures from the site of the old fire lookout (built in 1939 and apparently abandoned in 1959). Just before sunset, we started slowly making our way back down the trail, photographing flowers and meadows. The light faded as we continued a bit further along the Pilot Ridge trail, but it was one of those magical evenings where the color seems to linger on the clouds forever. Absolutely stunning. Eventually, though, we pulled out our headlamps to find a pleasant campsite just off the trail, and we tucked in for the night.

Pilot Ridge backlit with sunbeams. Bedal at left, with Three Fingers just to the right further away.

The sun setting just behind Sloan Peak, in a panorama from the summit of Johnson Mountain. Bedal and Pugh are the next major summits to the right of Sloan, with Whitechuck peaking out from behind Painted Mountain, and Mount Baker to the right.

Evening light on the slopes above Blue Lake.

Marco heading down the Johnson Mountain trail beneath a magical sunset.

Enjoying the flowers and pink sky on the way down Johnson.

Flowers blowing in the wind in a long exposure at dusk.

Sloan Peak silhouetted against a glowing skyline during a sunset that seemed to last forever.

It was dark enough for us to pull headlamps out as we looked for a campsite, but the clouds still glowed orange.

After a cozy night, we got up before dawn and packed up camp for a quick departure. As the sun came up, we photographed another lovely sunrise, with beautiful Asters and other flowers and views of Glacier Peak.

Glacier Peak above White Mountain in the distance, with Asters and Hellebore in the foreground.

Morning light on Three Fingers, peaking out above the saddle between Sloan and Bedal.

Sloan and Pugh getting in on the sunrise action, with Three Fingers and Whitehorse in the distance.

Morning sunlight bathing Pilot Ridge, with Glacier Peak looking dry and dusty in the shade to the right.

We slammed a quick breakfast, then hopped back on the trail and continued through miles of beautiful meadows, before finally dropping off Pilot Ridge and descending back into the North Fork Sauk valley, finally crossing the river and jogging the last little bit back to the trailhead by 10am, before heading straight into work. A great way to start the week!

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