Trip Report: Chilly Conditions on the South Ridge of Ingalls Peak

Galen Weld June 23, 2026

Two weeks ago was Eric’s birthday, and we needed to do something to celebrate! He had initially wanted to go to Squamish, but the weather had other plans, so we pivoted to a big ole climbing birthday party on Ingalls Peak - a classic easy alpine rock climb.

After camping below Ingalls Pass the night before, we rocked up to the base of the route as a group of 8 people, which prompted one member of the party ahead of us to ask if we were “with the Mountaineers” - an auspicious start! We divided up into three rope teams and took the mountain by storm, which was fitting as an actual snowstorm added some flakes, strong winds, and near freezing temps, which gave the climb a bit more alpine character. I think we all climbed the whole thing in gloves! Here are a few pics :)

A squall over Esmerela Peak on the way in

Becca and Yohannes on the approach above Lake Ingalls

Eric, Ian, and Soph with Stuart behind in the clouds

Becca and Yohannes nearing the base of the route

Matt demonstrating precise footwork on the first pitch

Yohannes getting properly alpine on his first alpine rock climb

Of course it cleared up as soon as we were down

Trip Report: Running the Stone Ridge Trail on the Big Sur Coast

Galen Weld June 12, 2026

At the start of this month I headed down to LA to attend ICWSM. Even though the conference was in the basement of the LA airport Marriot, which is not the most exciting place in the state, I wanted to make the most of my trip south, so I schemed with Alex to drive up the coast afterwards and link up along the Big Sur coast, where Alex pitched me on running up the Stone Ridge trail, which climbs straight uphill from the ocean to the summit of Cone Peak at 5,155 feet. A week before the trip, Alex called me up to plan. “I have an idea…” he said. “But first, a question: do you know how allergic you are to poison oak?”

I set out on Friday afternoon from LA, battling traffic as I made my way northwest. I enjoyed a lovely sunset near Ragged Point, then drove another hour or so north to camp near the trailhead, a short ways up a side road. When I woke up before sunrise, there was a thick layer of fog above the ocean, filling the valleys and making for a beautiful view. I snapped a few pictures, then headed over to the trailhead to meet Alex.

Morning fog above the ocean, looking north up the coast from Nacimiento Road

At 6:30 am, right on time, Alex rolled up and parked next to me. We stepped out of our cars and were immediately hit with a foul smell: there was a rotting deer carcass in the ditch about 10 feet away. An auspicious start. We lathered up with some sunscreen, then set out to find the overgrown trail. The first bit was the brushiest, with plenty of dew to soak us and sharp brush to scratch up our legs (and to get more poison oak oil into our circulatory systems), but it was pleasant climbing through the foggy hillside. We crossed Limekiln Creek in a nice grove of redwoods, then started climbing Stone Ridge in earnest, soon rising out of the clouds. We headed uphill with a few runable flatter spots, with the views getting nicer and nicer as we got higher. It was a gorgeous day! Before long we were at the top of Twin Peak, where we took a short break before a rocky traverse over to the much larger and more popular trail that runs up to Cone Peak. Before long we were at the fire lookout on the summit, where we took another break before starting our run down, down, down.

Crossing Limekiln Creek in a nice grove of Redwoods

Alex and I just below the summit of Cone Peak

The descent loop was nicely varied, with some single track, a fire road, and then the highlight was the lower stretch - running down through Redwood groves above Vicente Flat, then traversing the steep hillside to the south. We hit the highway about 3.5 miles south of our cars, and ran up the road. Alex set a brisk pace up the shoulderless highway, and it was starting to get hot in the sun. The last mile was gently up hill, and I was starting to feel in rough shape after 5000+ feet of downhill running. Soon enough, though, were were running through the new Rain Rocks Rock Shed, installed by Caltrans to help keep rockfall off the highway, and then we were back at our cars - a really wonderful loop run!

Descending towards the ocean as the fog burns off below

We drove back to the Bay Area, where I thought I took the right poison oak precautions: immediately washed all my clothes, showered with Tecnu. We headed into San Francisco for a nice dinner to celebrate Alex’s birthday, and I thought that was that. I spent four more days in California, visiting friends and coworkers, enjoying a great paragliding flight at Mussel Rock, and watching a few more nice sunsets. I thought that all the poison oak risk had been overhyped, but I was so, so wrong… (First a few more photos - scroll on for the epilogue!)

Cormorants south of Point Pedro, near Pacifica

Surf blurs in this long exposure at dusk

Epilogue: As I sat at SFO waiting for my delayed flight back home, I felt the first itchy urges. Within a day or two, I had a rash all over my arms and legs, some on my chest and on my face as well, which was decently swollen. Sleeping was awful, and to really add to the fun, I had a nice infected rash in my navel and groin to boot. I somehow even seem to have managed to bring some Urushiol back to Becca, too! All this despite not seeing too much poison oak along the trail and despite trying to be careful. Lesson learned. A week later, with most of a course of Prednisone behind me, I’m much better, but now I can definitively answer Alex’s question from the beginning:

Q: “Do you know how allergic you are to poison oak?” A: “Extremely!”

Trip Report: Skiing Mount Baker via the Squak Glacier (and bookend camping)

Galen Weld June 8, 2026

Memorial day weekend was upon us, with so many activities to choose from! So many destinations to select from! Audra was visiting from California, Helene was at the tail end of a volcano skiing rampage, and Becca was excited to notch another Cascade classic in her ski mountaineering belt-erm-harness. The stage was set to ski Mount Baker via the Squak.

Prologue: Ever hungry for an overnight mission, I set out on Thursday night for Shuksan arm, with my big film camera in tow. Despite overcast skies and some sprinkles coming up the highway around 6pm, I put my faith in the National Weather service and skied up to to the top of the arm, and enjoyed a beautiful sunset on Shuksan. I stayed up as it got dark taking more photos and setting up a star trail shot on slide film, which also involved getting up at 3 am, before it got light, to close the shutter, then getting up at 5 for sunrise - not enough sleep! I just got my film back from the lab and will send some of those shots out once I scan them, but in the meantime, here are some digital snaps.

Clear skies above Larrabee and the Border Peaks

Act I: Our Californian companions’ flight into town was tragically delayed, which made what was already going to be a brief night of sleep even briefer. We didn’t get home from the airport until after midnight, and with a 1:50 am wake-up call to start driving to Schreibers Meadow, we only about an hour of sleep - a perfect start to the day. We piled into the car bleary eyed, and rolled north under starry skies to rendezvous with Helene (who herself was coming off a crazy day - ask her about it!). We set off from the trailhead at first light, along with plenty of other folks with the same idea. We started skinning as we left the Scott Paul Trail, and cruised up into the alpine as some clouds started to swirl around the upper mountain.

Superhighway up towards the Sauk, with Sherman Peak hiding the true summit of Baker

Visibility came in and out on the glacier, but morale remained high!

Passing the big ‘schrund just below the crater

I hadn’t been up any of the south side routes before, so I was excited to peer into the crater and listen to the hissing fumaroles

Becca, Audra, and Helene attacking the Roman Wall

I was really proud of Becca for doing a great job skiing the Roman Wall despite being intimidated by it!

Every ski descent requires some rest breaks. Some unplanned…

Cruising the lower Squak with some seracs poking out

Epilogue: After returning to the car, we said goodbye to Audra, who headed back to Seattle for some well-earned rest, while Helene and Becca and I nipped over to Sauk Mountain to catch the sunset. We headed up the many pleasant switchbacks, with a great view over the confluence of the Skagit and Sauk rivers, and enjoyed an easy night of mellow camping before heading home.

Shuksan looking nice in the evening light

On the way out we got a great view of this grouse doing its grousy thing

Helene and Becca with Whitehorse in the distance

Trip Report: Skiing Clark Mountain via the Clark Glacier

Galen Weld May 29, 2026

Two weeks ago, Matt and I were fired up about the possibility of a big spring ski traverse, but the weather had different plans. A mid-May storm cycle rolled into the Cascades just before the weekend, dropping 2+ feet of snow at higher elevations, and the forecast said that things wouldn’t really clear up until Sunday. I was a bit disappointed about not being able to get out for a longer trip, but I couldn’t really complain about the possibility of skiing some mid-May powder. To further sweeten the deal, Matt was laid low by a nasty cold, which meant that I finally stood a chance of keeping up with him.

We decided to head for the Clark Glacier, on the north side of Clark Mountain, the highest summit in the Dakobed Range immediately southeast of Glacier Peak. This is an area that I had never been in in the winter before, and I was excited about the alpine terrain and the solitude. Matt and I linked up at Coles Corner on Saturday afternoon, and headed up to White River Falls.

It sprinkled a bit on us on the drive up, and the weather seemed mildly foreboding, but we headed up the White River Trail, which is pretty properly obliterated by blowdown for much of the first ~2 miles. Still, it was pleasant in the forest, with lots of blooming Trillium and massive old growth trees. We hit the Boulder Creek Trail and headed up it. After plenty more blowdown for the first ~500 vertical feet, we were pleasantly surprised to find the upper part of the trail in great shape.

Matt expertly keeping his feet dry at the soggy Boulder Creek crossing.

A carpet of Glacier Lillies along the Boulder Creek trail

We hit snow around 4,500 feet and continued a bit further before finding a nice camp spot near the creek. The weather was still fairly overcast, but we got occasional glimpses of the subsummits of Clark far above us, coated in fresh snow. As we set up camp, a squall rolled in and it started snowing on us, so we had a quick dinner and then a cozy evening in the tent, listening to the snow fall.

Pt. 8373 shrouded in clouds and fresh snow above the Boulder Creek Basin.

Matt waiting for dinner as it snows lightly

We awoke to clearing skies and some sunshine, and thew our skins on to head up the valley towards Boulder Pass. On solar aspects, the spring sun quickly turned the fresh snow to mashed potatoes, and it was slow going breaking trail through a foot+ of mush. At Boulder Pass we made a short skins-on descent to flatter terrain, then wrapped around to northern slopes and the Clark Glacier. A long gentle traverse brought us to steeper terrain around 7,400 feet, then it was cruising along the flat upper glacier to the 8,100 foot saddle immediately east of the summit. We were a bit worried about the steep south-facing slopes below the summit, but they ended up being easy going, and before long we were on the summit, looking at the incredible views of Luahna, about 3.5 hours after leaving camp.

Matt beginning the climb up towards Boulder Pass

Traversing towards the Clark Glacier, with Boulder Pass below at left.

Heading across north-facing slopes towards the margin of the Clark Glacier.

Glacier Peak and Luahna from the summit of Clark.

We took a brief break on the summit, then ripped skins for the descent before things got gloppier. The southern slopes back to the saddle were wet, but once we were back on the glacier, we had great conditions, with 1,500 feet of sustained fall line powder to the bottom of the glacier. We skinned back up to the eastern edge of the east ridge of Pt. 8373, then skied some mush before a short climb to Boulder Pass and a fun tater ski back to camp along Boulder Creek.

Matt skiing some over-baked snow off the summit of Clark, with Pt. 8373 in the background.

The money pitch - fall line power to the toe of the Clark Glacier

Matt climbing back up towards the ridge after skiing the Clark Glacier, with our up- and down-tracks in the background.

We packed up camp and loaded up our packs, then, in classic Matt-and-Galen fashion, skied as far as we could until running out of snow (and a bit further) before swapping out ski boots for trail runners and heading back into the blowdown-filled forest to the trailhead.

A tasteful bit of meadow skiing below camp.

Navigating blowdown on the White River Trail

Trip Report: Mellow Backpacking on the Olympic Coast

Galen Weld May 21, 2026

Earlier this month, Becca and I took both of our moms out for a lovely mellow backpacking trip on the coast. I am typically preoccupied by more mountainous pursuits closer to home, but every time I go the the Olympics I am reminded that I should spend more time there. We left Seattle early Saturday morning and made our way over towards La Push with plenty of time to stop along the way, then hiked in to Scotts Creek, and in the morning enjoyed some tidepooling before heading back by way of the Hoh Rain Forest.

Despite having driven past it countless times, this trip was my first time stopping at Marymere Falls near Lake Crescent - beautiful!

Becca enjoyed looking down at this waterfall that drops straight into the ocean, with Third Beach in the background.

There were plenty of eagles along the beach, including this juvenile Bald Eagle. On a previous trip to the coast, we overheard a woman musing to her companion that the eagles were “defending our coastline,” and I think back to that comment every time I see one.

Becca and I climbed onto this piece of driftwood for a photo near camp.

Nice light as the sun got closer to the horizon.

Group picture on a sea stack south of camp

A long exposure smoothes out the surf at dusk

You can imagine all sorts of shapes in the seastacks at Giants Graveyard

Scotts Creek draining onto the beach in the last of the evening light

In the the morning, the full moon looked stunning setting out to sea

This Oystercatcher was looking for breakfast.

We had tons of fun looking at sea stars and anemones in the tide pools.

Morning light on Taylor Point and its small islets

Trip Report: Skiing Cashmere Mountain via Lake Victoria (and bonus flower pics)

Galen Weld May 14, 2026

After returning from Europe, I was in a classic Galen funk of indecision about weekend plans. After much hemming and hawing, I made very last minute plans to head out to Leavenworth and ski Cashmere with Matt from the north side. I left Seattle at 10:30 and crashed for a few hours on Matt’s couch before we got up at 5:30 to head up the Icicle.

When discussing the trip the night before, Matt, who had been up Cashmere via this route, mentioned that the Lake Victoria trail is “not a bushwhack, but also not not a bushwhack,” and I was curious to learn what he meant. Indeed, I learned quickly: the upper part of the Lake Victoria trail is completely obliterated by blowdown, particularly where it enters the Lake Victoria drainage around 5,100 feet. Fortunately for us, Matt and I had brought the ultimate ski bushwhacking weapon - ski blades! We whacked bushes, hopped logs, and generally bashed our way to Victoria Creek, where there was enough snowpack that travel was easier.

A spry Matt hops down trees along the Lake Victoria trail, unimpeded by his nimble ski blades.

We continued up to Lake Victoria, still frozen over, and enjoyed a slice of backpack pizza before skinning across the lake. We skinned up the fan on the far side, then switched to boot crampons to climb the firm snow in the righthand-most gully around 6,400 feet. We made quick progress up into the upper basin, and opted to keep booting since travel was quite efficient.

Skinning across Lake Victoria, with the summit of Cashmere just out of sight.

We scoped a line of continuous steep snow that led all the way through the summit, and cruised up through some cool rime ice to the top of the ridge. To our surprise, we saw a young man coming up the south side of the summit at the same time - he had approached from Eightmile Lake having left the car at 1:30am! A tasteful amount (10 feet) of easy mixed climbing over rimey rocks took us to the true summit just before our new friend, and we all enjoyed great views of the Stuart Range to the south.

Matt demonstrating his ice climbing technique mastery on the steep snow just below the summit.

Our unexpected summit companion seemed a bit turned around and anxious about his solo descent, so, in a striking show of parental nurturing, Matt offered to show him the route off the summit. Since the very top of the north face seemed like nasty skiing, we scrambled down the south side, traversing around to the west to reach more pleasant slopes. Matt said a tearful goodbye to his companion and pointed him down the hill towards Lake Caroline (a gifted Beargrass ski strap was presented as a talismanic good luck charm), and we ripped our skins and dropped into the face. The skiing was pretty firm for the first few hundred feet, but the upper basin held a few inches of fun powder down to the choke, and the fan was fun and sun-softened. I huffed and puffed trying to keep up with Matt skating across Lake Victoria.

Matt making his first turns on the north face of Cashmere.

Fun skiing in some wind-affected powder in the gully above Lake Victoria.

Looking back at our tracks from across the lake.

We continued skiing down Victoria Creek until we ran out of snow (and I postholed up to my shoulders), then danced our way through the deadfall and back down to my car without further incident. We got back to Leavenworth with plenty of time for a nice afternoon paragliding flight at Eagle Creek, which was truly carpeted in balsamroot flowers - see below for some bonus pictures!

Trip Report: Spring Skiing in the Ötztal Alps and Hohe Tauern of Austria

Galen Weld April 30, 2026

After Ireland, I headed to Germany to spend the weekend catching up and skiing with my good friend Jörn, who moved back to his native Germany after a few years in Seattle, where he was living when we met. Jörn is perhaps the single most dedicated powderhound I know, who doesn’t blink at the prospect of an overnight 12 hour drive to reach the best snow. In the ~2 years since he moved back to Germany, I was able to visit once last June, where the summer conditions meant that I left my skis at home for our ascent of the Grossglockner, the tallest mountain in Austria. This time around, it was mid-April, prime for spring skiing, and we were going to get after it. This was my first time backcountry skiing in the Alps, and I was lucky to have Jörn as my guide - that man is constantly comparing different weather models, explaining to me the finer points of orographic lift as it relates to microscale precipitation total differences in the Eastern Alps, and generally obsessing over weather, terrain, and skiing.

As such, I told Jörn to exercise executive decisionmaking over the weekend plans. With Saturday looking like the best weather up high, he picked me up from the Munich airport late Friday night and we immediately embarked on a 3+ hour drive to the Pitztal (Pitze Valley), about 30km southeast of Innsbruck. This valley drains some of the biggest glaciers in the Ötztal Alps, and we spent the night at a pension up the valley for an early start Saturday morning.

We caught the very first train of the Pitztal Gletscherexpress, an underground funicular railway that whisks you up over 1,000 vertical meters in 7 minutes. We got on the train at the valley bottom, surrounded by grassy meadows, and stepped off the train into an alpine environment of rock and ice (albeit in the middle of a ski resort). Walking up the stairs at the top of the train station, the almost 10,000 foot elevation was immediately evident. We took one more gondola, and then headed out of the ski resort over the Mittelbergjoch (pass), dodging past hordes of other ski tourers. From the joch we were greeted with our first view of the massive Taschachferner (glacier), our first ski objective for the day.

The icefall on the Taschachferner looks impressive! We summited Petersenspitze, the gentle snowy summit, then skied the lookers’ right hand side of the glacier seen here.

We skied down the the glacier and put our skins on for our first climb towards Petersenspitze, our first summit for the day. We started off in the same direction as many parties headed towards Wildspitze, the tallest mountain in the area (and the second highest in Austria), but soon turned off the skin track as we headed towards our objective. Jörn had promised me first tracks on our descent, so when we eyed another party heading in the same direction, his pace quickened notably. Feeling the altitude, I was positively gassed by the time we sprinted to the summit of Ptersenspitze within 30 seconds of the other party. Jörn exchanged a few words with them in German, and then told me that we hadn’t needed to rush - they were headed in a different direction. We said goodbye to the other party and started our descent of the Taschachferner, which was very gentle up high and then rolled over at the icefall for over a thousand feet of very nicely pitched skiing through a few inches of fresh powder with stunning views. At the bottom of the steep pitch, we continued down the glacier to its toe, then put skins on for our next climb.

Another party returning from the Brochkogeljoch traverses underneath the north face of Hinterer Brochkogel.

Jörn heading into the steep part of the Taschachferner, with the Mittelbergjoch at middle-left.

The bottom of the glacier felt totally different from its upper slopes. Gone were the hordes of people and ski tracks - it felt as though we had the whole place to ourselves, with trackless faces in all directions. We started climbing up towards Pitztaler Urkund and the Urkundsattel (saddle) in the sun, with nice views over to the Ölgruben group. Above the saddle, we climbed onto the Sexegertenferner as we made our way towards our second goal for the day, the Hochvernagtwand. We hadn’t been able to find much information about this north face, but the one picture I had found online made it look like a nice ski, and we were both relieved that our eyeballs confirmed that assessment. As we neared the top of the ridge, however, and the glacier steepened, the skinning conditions became trickier. We switched to booting a hundred feet below the ridge crest, and wallowed our way up to the top, where we were rewarded with great views back to Wildspitze. We ripped skins and dropped in, and enjoyed great skiing back down to the saddle and below to the valley floor, where the slope flattened out the snow was fairly well cooked. With some concern about loose wet avalanches on the way out, we skied, pushed, and skated down the valley back to the car at the bottom terminal of the Gletscherexpress - a great day! Jörn finished the day off by ordering me a plate of Spätzle so large that I absolutely could not finish it, followed by an order of Kaiserschmarrn - he nearly had to roll me back to our pension.

Jörn on the skin track above the Urkundsattel, with the Ölgrubenspitze, the Bliggspitze, and the Eiskastenspitze in the distance.

Jörn making the first few turns on the Hochvernagtwand, with our skin track below.

Jörn skiing the Westlicher Taschachferner, with Pitztaler Urkund behind him.

We woke up on Sunday morning with big ambitions to ski Sexegertenzpitze, but by the time we finished breakfast, the sky was thoroughly cloudy, with poor visibility in the alpine. The scene stepping off the Gletscherexpress underscored this point, as we were confronted with dumping snow and a complete whiteout. We pivoted our plans to something a bit less committed: the Hangenderferner on the northern slopes of Linker Fernerkogel. The weather radar suggested the storm would pass pretty soon, so we headed out onto the vast glacial expanse of the Mittelbergferner in a total whiteout, quite disorienting. However, just as promised, within 10 minutes things began to clear up, and we even had a few moments of sunshine as we climbed up to the saddle east of the summit. However, with just a hundred or so meters to go, another squall rolled in, and the visibility dropped to zero. We didn’t feel comfortable venturing out onto the glacier without any visibility, so I took off my skis and booted up and down 50 feet repeatedly in order to stay warm when the wind picked up. After an hour or so, visibility improved again, and we skinned up to the summit of Linker Fernerkogel, with its big cross, and waited for a bit of sun before we dropped in. The new snow and wind had filled in all the old tracks, and once again we had the whole place to ourselves. As soon as the sun popped out, we dropped in, and enjoyed excellent skiing down the Hangenderferner before cutting hard left to avoid a cliff band and return to the Mittelbergferner. We opted to ski out the valley again, and had fun carving down the closed-but-groomed piste all the way to the car, 4,000 vertical feet below.

Jörn heading out onto the Mittelbergferner as the visibility begins to improve.

The wind picked up and another squall came through as we traversed just a hundred meters or so below the summit of Linker Fernerkogel.

After skiing, we drove back through Innsbruck to Jörn’s apartment just outside of Salzburg, where we had a nice dinner with his wife and planned our escapades for the next day. With as much as 20cm of new snow arriving overnight, Jörn pitched me on heading to the Kitzsteinhorn ski resort for what he endearingly referred to as “freeriding,” which I gather is Euro-speak for chairlift accessed off-piste skiing with the occasional short hike or skin.

Schloß Staufeneck, an old castle in the foothills of the Alps not too far from Jörn’s home. All the villages and sights along the drives were preposterously scenic to my uncultured American eyes.

We headed out to catch the first chair, and Jörn battled through traffic as I enjoyed the sightseeing. Every single village that we drove through seemed so incredibly scenic to my American senses, and I told Jörn as much. I told him that the scenery back home seemed so ugly in comparison to the mountain towns, farms, and castles in the Alps. I was surprised to hear Jörn say that he had the same impression of the Cascades the first time he moved to Washington. To him, the scenery along the highways and backroads of the Cascades seemed strikingly wild and rugged. I guess being in a new place always feels special and exciting. We made to to Kitzsteinhorn without trouble, and a series of three gondolas whisked us 5,000 vertical feet up into the alpine. We made the most of the fresh snow and variable visibility, bouncing between patches of sun and patches of fog as we had a full day of skiing, and it was fun to get guided around Jörn’s home mountain.

Kitzsteinhorn in the early morning light as seen from our drive. If you look carefully you can make out the top terminal of the cable car on the righthand shoulder a bit below the summit.

Jörn skiing powder below the top lift, with Gaisstein in the background.

We mixed things up between the upper mountain and laps off of Kristallbahn. Here Jörn waited for some sun before dropping into a lap near Kleiner Schmiedinger.

After last chair, we headed back home for showers and a nice final dinner in Salzburg, then I got up early the next morning to make my way back to Seattle.

Trip Report: Visting Dublin and the Wicklow Mountains

Galen Weld April 26, 2026

Last week I had the opportunity to visit Ireland for the first time, in order to attend a meeting for my new job - I haven’t mentioned this to most folks yet, but I’ll be starting as a Research Scientist at the Wikimedia Foundation next month! I was mostly busy with work commitments, but I had a little bit of time to get outside and enjoy the city as well as the countryside. It really felt like spring in Dublin, with cherry blossoms on the trees and lots of yellow gorse blossoms.

I landed on Sunday afternoon and immediately faced my first challenge - British Airways had lost my checked bag, so having to sort that out wasted some of my remaining sunlight. I grabbed a rental car and headed out of the city. It was remarkable how quickly it felt like I got up into the mountains - I was driving through a quaint suburb, and then just a few kilometers later I was up in the moor, devoid of trees and beautiful in the afternoon sun.

Kippure (and radio tower) with an old road. The old military road that this photo was taken from is one of the oldest purpose-built roads in Ireland, built in 1800 by the Crown to permit their forces to track down insurgents from the Irish Rebellion in 1798.

I was a bit slow getting to Lough Tay, so it was already dusk by the time I arrived, but it was still gorgeous, with Luggala on the right.

Looking towards Scarr mountain at dusk from above Lough Tay

After dark, I drove back into Dublin and checked into my hotel. I wanted to watch the sunrise, but when I woke up naturally at 4 am (thanks jetlag!) I had plenty of time to head back up into the mountains before dawn. I headed back to the twin lakes of Lough Bray, which I had driven past the previous afternoon, for a nice (but muddy!) hike around both of them.

The sun rising over the Irish Channel, with Upper Lough Bray at the left.

Both lakes visible in the morning light.

As I headed south, some rainstorms rolled through, making for dramatic light. This is Tonelagee and Carrigshouk Mountains, as seen from the Old Military Road.

I headed to Glendalough, where I poked my head in this beautiful Reefert Church, built in the 11th century.

The Poulanass River flows through lovely cultivated forests above the two lakes of Glendalough.

One of the primary attractions at Glendalough is the ‘Monastic City,’ which consists of several stone buildings built over hundreds of years. On the left here is St. Kevin’s Church, surrounded by tombstones.

Old mining buildings in the Glendasan valley. I believe copper was the most frequently mined mineral here, starting in the 1700s.

On the way back to Dublin, I stopped by Powerscourt waterfall, the second tallest waterfall in Ireland, and took this self-portrait using a tripod and self-timer.

The full height of Powerscourt Falls is visible a bit further away.

After my nice morning in the Wicklows, I headed back to Dublin to do some work and meet some of my new colleagues. The rest of the week was busy with work and the conference, but later in the week I took the train 20 minutes to Howth, a village on the outskirts of Dublin at the north end of Dublin Bay with a nice hiking path atop the sea-cliffs on Howth Head. It was a really delightful evening. I stepped off the train into a super cute fishing village, with plenty of fishing boats, pubs, a harbor, and walked out towards the sea cliffs. The path was beautiful, and the coast was steep and rugged, with lots of gorse flowers blooming. It was quite windy, which made taking photos tricky, and the coast faces east, which is less well suited for sunset photos. So, with a promising weather forecast, I got up early the next morning and came right back! I had a delightful time taking pictures in the quiet morning light, and took the train back to the conference just in time for the 9am session.

Wind blows the gorse in this long exposure at dusk. Baily Lighthouse in the distance.

When I returned the following morning, I scrambled down to this little beach just in time to watch the sun pop above the Irish Channel.

It was a beautiful sunrise with some clouds to catch the morning rays, and plenty of flowers.

I enjoyed strolling back through town on the way to my train - this belltower on the Catholic church looked nice with cherry blossoms in the foreground.

Trip Report: Skiing the Banana Couloir on Magic Mountain

Galen Weld April 18, 2026

After my solo Sahale debauchery, I wanted to return to the Cascade Pass area to ski some bigger lines. The weather looked good, and the usual suspects Adam and Matt were down to team up with new (to me) ski buddies Forrest and Hana to get after it. With warming forecast for the afternoon, we wanted to get an early start and be out of the mountains by the early afternoon. We settled on the Banana Couloir as a tentative objective, a relatively less popular couloir on the NE side of Magic Mountain, high above the Yawning Glacier. On Friday night, we headed up the Cascade River Road, where Matt and Adam and I got to snuggle in the bed of Matt’s truck. When our alarms went off at 3:55 am, none of the three of us were particularly thrilled, but Forrest had insisted on 3:55 instead of 4am “to get us in right mood.”

The Banana Couloir is smack-dab in the middle of this photo (which I took a week earlier from Sahale), dropping down and looker’s left from a subsummit of Magic Mountain.

We left the cars at the Johnson Cabin gate and walked easily up the Cascade River Road under the night sky. We started skinning by headlamp at Soldier Boy Creek, and reached the Cascade Pass Trailhead just as the first bit of light appeared in the sky.

The group heading towards Cascade Pass by headlamp at dawn, with the Triplets up at right.

We skinned easily to a short booter past the headwall, then continued up easy terrain directly towards Mix-Up arm as the first rays of the morning sun hit Johannesburg and the Triplets above us. It was a gorgeous day, but already, with the sun barely up, a philosophical division in the group was starting to show: Matt and I generally opt to skin and avoid booting if at all possible, and we enjoy the smug sense of moral superiority this strategy offers us, even if the actual travel may at times be less efficient. Forrest and Hana, on the other hand, tend to take a “fastest line possible” approach, and won’t hesitate to remove their skis if they think it’ll be faster.

As such, Forrest and Hana continued to boot up Mix-Up Arm even after Matt and Adam and I switched back to skinning, and the early morning conditions meant that we were truly neck-in-neck. Matt, never one to get second place, quickened his pace perceptibly every time he looked over at Forrest kicking steps parallel to our kick turns. We all converged on the crest of the arm, arriving truly within seconds of one another - Round 1 was a draw, but the day was still young.

Heading into the morning sun on top of Mix-Up Arm.

Reunited on the arm, we needed to start traversing towards the Cache Glacier. I suggested that we traverse low, across a steep wind lip, to save an extra 100 or so feet of climbing. Forrest and Hana, who are far more familiar with the area than I (and had been there literally 24 hours earlier) foolishly agreed, and some minor faffery followed - lesson learned. Next time I’ll defer to Forrest.

Adam breaking trail along Mix-Up Arm towards the Cache Glacier, with Pelon Peak shaded at left, and the spiky summit of Magic Mountain to the right.

We skinned along easy terrain to one final short, steep step. Forrest, the booting optimist, quickly removed his skis while Matt and I skinned upwards. Much to our delight, Forrest wallowed in the deep snow while Matt and I cruised past him - one point for Team Skinning. Past there, it was easy going past a short skins-on descent to gain the Cache Glacier, and before long we were making a final few kick turns to reach Cache Col, where the cornice posed no issues, and we were rewarded with our first stunning views of Spider and Formidable.

Forrest booting slowly as Matt and I set a beautiful, elegant, and efficient skintrack past him.

Adam making a final kick turn below Cache Col, with gorgeous views of Mix-Up behind him, and Torment and Forbidden in the distance.

We ripped skins at Cache Col and started skiing down some crusty but fun terrain with incredible views. At 6,400 feet, about 250 feet above Kool Aid Lake, we started our climb up towards the top of the Banana, which after looking at the map we thought would go from the south side, which seemed more pleasant than booting up the whole thing. With firm snow, we started out booting, but it quickly became wallowy, so Matt and I switched to skinning. None of the others seemed interested in following our lead, so Matt and I derived an immense amount of pleasure from cruising past Adam, Hana, and Forrest in their bootpack, arriving at the top of the couloir well ahead of them. With only a few hundred vertical feet to go, the remaining three saw the error of their ways and put their skis back on, as Matt and I watched from far above. Definitive victory for Team Skinning. Once at the top of the couloir, we peered over the lip - it was spectacular, steep but not too steep, narrow but not too narrow, and it dropped almost 3,000 vertical feet straight down into Pelton Basin. Adam dropped in first.

Adam making his first turn at the top of the Banana, with Pelton Basin far below and Bucker and the Ripsaw Ridge in the distance. Boston and Sahale barely out of frame at the left.

The skiing in the Banana was pretty good, a bit variable and wind affected in places. Plenty of sluff meant we had to stop fairly frequently to let it run ahead of us. Everyone did a great job skiing, and before long, we were most of the way down. At this point we watched a decently sized natural avalanche release below us, trigged by a small cornice failure, and it ran down onto the skin track of a party climbing up the Yawning Glacier below us - a good reminder that things we warming up and we had plenty of distance to go to get back to the car.

At the bottom of the couloir, we cranked hard skier’s right and made a short bonus climb up the Alliteration Col at the top of the Yawning Glacier, where we took in stunning views of Trapper Mountain. We skied down the Yawning Glacier into Pelton basin, with good skiing up top, and manky crust down low.

Hana, Matt, Forrest, and Adam at Alliteration Col, with Trapper Mountain in the distance.

Adam making turns in the sun on the Yawning Glacier.

In Pelton Basin we threw skins on for our last hot climb up to Cascade Pass. As we headed up the valley, there were plenty of natural slides coming down from Mix-Up Arm and the steep cliffs below the Cache Glacier. We were thankful for our early start. Once at Cascade Pass, we climbed back up Mix-Up a sporting distance for a nice final descent back down to the summer trailhead. A quick ski down the road and then a short walk brought us back to our cars.

Forrest and Adam skinning up towards Cascade Pass, with Pelton Peak and Pelton Basin behind them. The Yawning Glacier is right of Pelton Peak with Alliteration Col at its top, and the true summit of Magic looks spiky from this vantage point at the far upper right of the frame.

Nice turns down the west side of Mix-Up Arm on our last descent.

Gallery: Quick Overnight on Sahale

Galen Weld April 9, 2026

The weekend before last, I was antsy to get out and camp someplace pretty. I ended up heading up Sahale on skis for a quick overnight, camping just below the summit. It was a beautiful day when I left the car around noon, but some high clouds came in before sunset, making for more subdued light than I was hoping for. It was clear in the morning, but clouds to the east also blocked out much of the sunrise color. I was able to tag the summit of Sahale without much trouble, and just as I was reaching the top, the sun popped out above the clouds and lit up the mountains to the south. It was a special experience to have such a popular place to myself, and even with the clouds, it was still a stunning place to spend the night.

On the way up Sahale Arm, I saw these Wolverine tracks - I don’t think I’d seen any before! Thanks Dunlin and Mack for the ID.

Even with the cloud cover at sunset, I still got a brief moment of color in the sky - it was gorgeous.

Clear skies greeted me at dawn. Here’s my camp below Sahale, with Boston down the ridge.

Here’s a panorama of the classic view to the south from Sahale. Fortress in the distance at far left, with Gunsight, Sinister and Dome to the right. Below dome is Spider, then the One Eyed Bull above the Middle Cascade Glacier, Glacier Peak, and then Formidable closer in the sun.

One Eyed Bull, the Dana Glacier, and Spire Point, with Glacier Peak above.

Boston looking fearsome, with Jack in the distance.

Baker, with its summit in the clouds, Eldorado, and Torment at lower right.

Forbidden and Sharkfin Tower, with Primus and Tricouni in the distance.

Self-portrait at camp, with Gunsight, Sinister, Dome, Pelton, Magic, Spider, and Glacier Peak to the right.

Trip Report: Chiwaukum Traverse

Galen Weld April 2, 2026

The Chiwaukum Mountains run north-south for 12-or-so miles, sitting on the far side of Icicle Creek from their more famous neighbors, the Enchantments. The idea of traversing the mountain range on skis has appealed to me for a while, and bailing on a multiday attempt last year only amplified my enthusiasm. The weekend before last, Matt and I set out to try the traverse again, this time in a single push. We succeeded, and enjoyed solitude, great views, and atrocious skiing conditions. I will admit to a certain amount of hubris here: our planning process consisted mostly of asking “what’s a big single-day mission we could pull off” rather than “where might we find good skiing.” Perhaps we should have thought a bit more about the latter question after it rained torrentially up to 8,000+ feet and then re-froze…

We set off from Leavenworth a little bit past 5am, having dropped my car at Cascade Meadows the night before. Our plan was to drive as far up the Icicle as possible until we got Matt’s truck stuck, and then pull out the skis - and that’s exactly what we did. We made it almost a mile past Johnny Creek, just over two miles shy of the Chatter Creek trailhead. We dug until we could get Matt’s truck off the road, then set off skinning just as it was starting to get light. We skinned for a pleasant five minutes, just past the first bend in the road, before (classically) encountering a completely bare stretch of road. We switched back to trail runners, strapped the skis on our packs, and contented ourselves with postholing all the way up the mostly snow covered road to Chatter Creek. The trail was mostly snow-free until the second creek crossing at around 4,300 feet.

Matt, legs freed of their prisons/pants, charges up the Chatter Creek trail in the early morning, with some nice icicles on a fallen log.

Our first challenge: crossing Chatter Creek on this ice-coated log…

At the creek crossing, we faced our first challenge: crossing Chatter Creek. We were presented with our choice of several narrow and extremely icy logs, all of which looked unpleasant. Matt and I tried two separate strategies, both of which at least kept us dry, even if our dignity was compromised. On the far side of the creek, the trail faded into the snowpack, but it was firm enough that we opted to keep walking until we were in the upper basin at around 5,200 feet. With our first views of Grindstone Mountain, we transitioned back to skinning, and headed up valley in the sun, climbing past two headwalls. We crossed the ridge dividing the Chatter Creek and entered into the Index Creek drainage, and opted to rip skins for a short traversing descent to flatter terrain. The skiing was terrible - a taste of what was to come.

We put skins back on for the gentle climb past Lake Edna to Cape Horn, as far as Jaclyn and I had made it on our last attempt. Once again, the north-facing slops on the far side of Cape Horn were steep and nasty, so we traversed high on skins towards Ladies Pass, booting the last little bit. We stayed on the southeast ridge of Point 7708 a bit further, then again ripped skins and made a descending traverse to ~6,800 feet, crossing a bowl to gain the mellower slopes above Lake Brigham. From there, it was a pleasant sunny climb up the nondescript south slopes of Snowgrass Mountain around 13:00.

Climbing up the mellow southern slopes of Snowgrass, with Cape Horn in the distance at middle-left.

Matt skinning a few hundred feet below the summit of Snowgrass, with Snowgrass’ eastern summit (Point 7640+) in the background.

Stuart and the rest of the Stuart Range looking nice to the south.

A nice day to be on the summit of Snowgrass. Note Rainier and Daniel in the distance.

While the south side of Snowgrass was snowy and mellow, the steep bowl on the north side was steep, shaded, and surprisingly devoid of snow. We eyed our exit gully that would bring us back to the crest of the ridge between Snowgrass and Big Chiwaukum, and, with some care, found a spot to drop in. The skiing on the north side was very steep and outrageously firm - definite survival skiing, and decidedly not fun, despite the spectacular setting. After descending about 800 vertical feet towards Upper Grace Lake, we cut hard right to start our climb east. There was no way we were skinning the mixture of steep, bulletproof icy snow and frozen loose scree, so we strapped skis on our packs, grabbed out ice axes, and slowly booted our way towards the exit gully. We really ought to have brought boot crampons, given the poor conditions. The frozen scree ribs were especially unpleasant, with the rock and dirt encased in a slippery inch of ice. When you got your footing ostensibly secure, the ice would unexpectedly break, dumping you into a surprisingly loose spot of dirt and choss. Thankfully, the going nearer the gully was easier, and before long we hit the ridge crest and popped back into the sunshine and soft snow on the east side of the ridge.We ripped skins and traversed down to 7,200 feet to get below a steeper ridge, then climbed past some big old avalanche debris piles on easy terrain until we were just a hundred feet or so below the summit of Big Chiwaukum, right above the famous Big Chiwaukum Couloir.

Matt dropping into the northern bowl on Snowgrass, with Big Chiwaukum in the distance. Our exit gully is at the sun-shade line directly above Matt’s backpack.

Having skied the slope in the upper left of this frame, we were mildly gripped booting out of the bowl - it really would have been a good idea to bring boot crampons.

Back on the east side of the range, the skinning was downright pleasant on our way up to Big Chiwaukum.

Earlier in the day, we had thought that the couloir might be on the menu, but after experience on the north side of Snowgrass, we weren’t so sure today was the day for it. Indeed, peering into the couloir from above, it looked heinous, fully of frozen slide debris and nastiness. Oh well - it would have to wait for a different day. Since the summit of Big Chiwaukum also looked unpleasantly steep and exposed to solo, we instead took a nice lunch break before ripping skins for our penultimate descent, down towards Cup Lake. It was easy and fast traversing to the saddle just west of Point 7410, but again, descending the steeper north facing slopes beyond was properly fucked (sensing a pattern here?). The bowl above Cup Lake, despite being north facing and at almost 7,000 feet in elevation, was almost unskiable, with icy snow interrupted by a narrow choke that was barely a ski-length wide. We engaged in some undignified sidestepping to get past it and onto the easier slopes below. We skied past Cup Lake and down Chiwaukum Creek, past some more massive avalanche debris piles, which forced us to cross to the eastern side of the creek. Crossing back left was nontrivial, but as usual, Matt demonstrated a remarkably gymnastic technique to mount the snowbank. At around 5,600 feet we put skins on for our last climb, making a rising traverse before climbing up steeper south facing slopes to the saddle west of Point 6935. We traversed west towards Point 7132, then ripped skins and shuffled over towards the top of the Swath at Point 6602.

The slopes above Cup Lake offered truly atrocious skiing with a rocky choke.

Skating alongside Chiwaukum Creek below Larch Lake. We exited over the notch above the creek at middle-left.

Matt surmounts the snowbank while crossing Chiwaukum Creek by obeying the “three points of contact rule”: two inverted ski poles and the tail of one ski.

The Swath drops quite steeply down to Cascade Meadows from the northern end of a broad alpine plateau, and the contrast was quite stark. Behind us was gentle and sunny open slopes, and in front of us was the steep, shaded slide path that drops over 4,000 feet straight down. We dropped in, and, after a few intimidating first turns, we found our rhythm, skiing slopes that were more comically firm than scary. At 3,800 feet, we bailed out of the slide path onto the old logging road, now a mere 3.5 miles of easy road from the car - right? Of course not! Every few minutes of skiing were interrupted by bare patches, creek crossings, or downed logs that necessitated removing skis. Lower down, we decided to switch back to trail runners, thinking we were running out of snow, but the grass is always greener, and we were subjected to plenty of unpleasant post-holing. By the time we reached Whitepine Road I was so fed up with post-holing that I convinced Matt to put our skis back on, and we skied down the road, spending a fair share of the remining distance walking through a few inches of standing water on the road. Finally, just before sunset, we reached my car.

A nice view of Mount Howard and Mount Mastiff with Glacier Peak in the distance. We had skied from Rock Mountain (out of frame to the left) over Howard to Mastiff and beyond a few weeks earlier, so it was fun to get a view of our previous route.

The road exit offered plenty of obstacles to keep things interesting on our way down to the car.

We drove back to Leavenworth as it was getting dark, then we had to tackle our final challenge for the day - driving back up the Icicle to dig out Matt’s truck.

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!