Eldorado Peak, East Ridge
May 11-12, 2004

Guidebook authors consistently bill the glacier route on Eldorado a North Cascades classic. They say it's got it all - a direct approach, a lengthy boulder hop, extended snow travel, killer views, and an exhilarating finish on a knife edge summit. A quick glance at a map of the Inspiration-McAllister-Klawatti region bolstered their claims.

Our expedition party numbered five: Brad Monrad, Jenny Baker, Chris Danilson, Shawn Taipale, and Skye Cooley. A certain senior member of the group, having completed a hasty assessment of the group's meager reserves and probability of success, determined that he might do well to let an advance team (the rest of us) put "a few miles down" before joining us. We redistributed tent, stove, and fuel loads accordingly. He retired to a warm vehicle for a second round of crumpets and bit more rest. "I'll radio when I wake".

Crossing the creek on a tangle of logs, we began our ascent into the wild beneath a misting, leaden sky. Our cup-half-full interpretation of weather report called for a pattern of stable but soggy with a window on Saturday. "We'll give it a go," someone said as we hoisted packs. Discussion of the path so far seemed to center on the word brutal. "Are we not men?" another voice demanded. Our quads accepted the steepening grade. I began whimpering, began to think of crumpets.

The glacial wilderness above Marble Creek cirque is accessed through a backdoor route up Eldorado Creek involving some 1800' of steep trail and an equal measure of boulder hopping and step kicking. The way is well marked, but stay right through the upper boulder field, ignoring most of the cairns. Whatever your altimeter tells you, go higher and move a bit right. This rule of thumb will also serve you well should you be seeking a.) victory in political debate, b.) the Delete key on your laptop, or c.) a navigable trade route to the Atlantic.

Jenny and Chris smoothly tag-teamed several thousand steps up to our camp at 7500'. The rest of us laggards happily strolled the stairway for hours, snapping foggy photographs, offering little more than cries of encouragement from the peanut gallery, "Put yer back into it, for Queen and Country, you lollies!".

We established camp and settled in for the night, having bolted the contents of our Mountain House feed bags, still unable to see our objective or anything on the horizon larger than a few hoary marmots. The temperature dropped, the snowpack crystallized, someone passed out tainted chocolates, and strange smells began wafting about the tent. Brad snored bearishly. I drifted off dreaming of dead goat and egg salad sandwiches. Chris quietly fumed with outrage, clamped a biner over his nose. Jenny, enclosed in her (leaky) $500 fart sack, eventually felt better.

The concept of weather windows and summit pushes are foreign to most Cascade climbers. You're more likely to hear, "Rain or snow is probable sometime this weekend. Are we going or not?" than, "The stable climbing period in June occurs between May 15 and May 31, so experienced teams organize their efforts accordingly". We hoped for at least some sort of clearing in order to reach a summit this weekend.

A few minutes past 9 pm, the well-rested senior member arrived in camp bringing with him clear skies and tales of a light pack and the finest strudel. His arrival afforded us the opportunity to air out our tent and assess the morrow's route.

By 9 am we sat comfortably astride Eldorado's overhanging summit cornice, dismissing doubts about the stability of the perch in favor of head-stand photographs and off-balance high fives. Fred Beckey would have been proud in our use of three pickets and two shoulder stands in order to gain an improbable, unprotected traverse to an unrecognizable, yet correctly chosen, spur leading to the summit. You could do worse in choosing an objective, but not better in choosing expedition members, crumpet munchers and stink-bombers included.