Forbidden Peak, West Ridge

By: Mark Anderson | Climbers: Mark Anderson, Bobby Gomez |Trip Dates: September 7, 2001

Photo: Peter Gunstone

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Bobby's 1976 Volvo Station Wagon rolled slowly toward the distracted flagger. The slothenly gent trotted dumpily (much to the dismay of my scarred psyche) back to his post at the center-lane of the deserted highway. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully when the grating rattle of the Volvo's rutted rotors startled him into consciousness.

"So what sort of project you guys got goin' on today?" Bobby inquired.

"Oh, you know, scrapin' another flying saucer off the road." He replied with a smirk.

"F-in' reckless aliens!" Bobby exclaimed.

Believe it or not, this conversation actually took place. And so did everything else contained within this trip report.

We were heading west on the famed Highway 20, the North Cascades Highway. Today was our rest day. Bobby and I had dispatched the North Ridge of Stuart the previous day, and figured we'd take a nice relaxing drive through the park before fixing a couple pitches on Liberty Bell. It was slightly before noon when we realized we would have to drive clear to Marblemount to find a decent meal. As we passed Newhalem I suggested, since we would be in the area anyway, that we drive down the Cascade River Road and maybe get a glimpse of Boston Basin and the surrounding peaks. This really got the wheels in our heads turning.

Twenty minutes later, Bobby topped off the gas tank in Marblemount while I began packing. We left from the Boston Basin trailhead at 12:45 in the afternoon. We carried one camelback, two fannypacks and one 8mm x 60m rope. The previous day's adventures had taught us that the crampon department was not an appropriate place to cut weight. Bobby would wear his leather boots and carry his step-in crampons. I would wear tennis shoes (which would allow me to keep up with him on the trail) and carry my four-point in-step crampons, along with my carbon-fiber straight shaft ice tool (with Alaska Pick). The fanny packs contained 3 TCUs, 4 shoulder-length slings, 2 harnesses, 3 power bars, headlamps and light jackets.

We climbed the first 2200 vertical feet in 45 minutes--definitely a record for me. After an hour we emerged from the dense cedar forest, and for the first time could truly appreciate the grandeur that enclosed us. Another hour saw us to the base of the small glacier that bounds Forbidden Peak to the south. We had traversed far to the west of Boston Basin, in hopes of avoiding as much snow as possible. We donned our minimal glacier travel gear, and proceeded towards the couloir.

Previous climbers had indicated the couloir could be quite hairy late in the season, so I had decided we would try our luck on the easy-looking rock ramps and gullies west of the couloir. We followed the gully closest to the couloir, and found loose but easy rock (up to 5.6). We passed five or six rap slings along the way, and the climbing seemed to ease the higher we got. At 4pm, we reached the West ridge.

The climbing on the ridge was very fun and easy. Roper and Steck call it 5.2, which is a difficult grade for me to comprehend. I can understand 4th Class, and I can understand 5.6, but everything in between is a blur. In my opinion, the climbing difficulty was somewhere in that blur. The knife-edge ridge was very exposed the entire length, with excellent rock and many fun moves, including some airy jumps (if you like). The north side of the ridge had small amounts of rime ice coating shady spots, but cold hands could easily be re-warmed on the south side. After bypassing several false summits I stood on the western most of two near-identical summit spires. Unsure of which was higher, I figured I'd better summit both just to be sure. Down climbing the first, western-most spire proved to be the crux of the climb, which involved hanging off the eastern lip and searching blindly for footholds. I guess most parties traverse around this gendarme, as the eastern spire is most certainly the true summit. Four hours after leaving the car, I belayed Bobby the final 20 feet to the choppy summit block.

We snapped a summit photo and hurriedly began the descent, which I expected would take longer than the climb. To my surprise it went rather fast. On the way up we passed one other party rapping the route. I thought that was somewhat silly, since the route traverses far more than it climbs. I seriously doubt that being on rappel would do much for you (compared to being on-belay or simul-climbing and placing gear) in the event of a slip or fall. In any case, our decision to down-climb was primarily based on considerations for speed. About the time we began the descent down the gully from the West Ridge we caught the two climbers we had passed on the way up. They were rappelling their way down the gully we had climbed up. Unwilling to wait or pass, (since we hadn't brought helmets) I decided to down climb slightly west of the gully we ascended. We made it to within 100 feet of the glacier when our route petered out (into a 40 foot cliff). One quick 80 foot rappel got us back onto easy ground, which we quickly scrambled down; to the glacier. We crossed the soft glacier as shadows slowly climbed up Boston Basin. Once off the glacier I dashed towards the trail in hopes of catching one last glimpse of sunlight. Bobby (and his clunky mountain boots) hung back with the two other climbers, swapping stories and advertising for Gary's web site.

I passed a small group of climbers who had established a virtual tent city in Boston Basin. They were quite interested in the details of my ascent, which they were similarly unwilling to believe. Rather than waste any more time on this bunch of siege-style doubting yahoos, I bid them farewell and proceeded. Once I judged I was a safe distance away, I found a nice rock and waited for Bobby, trying in vain to imitate the shrill call of the love-starved whistle pig.

When Bobby arrived, we proceeded at an easy jog, hoping to reach the parking lot before we lost the last glow of sunlight. At 8:30 pm we arrived at the welcoming Volvo. Not all that tired, but certainly satisfied (for the moment), we agreed that Liberty Bell would wait till next year. The first stars of the evening appeared over our carriage, rolling slowly down the Cascade River Road, while yellow moonbeams revealed fleeting glimpses of distant visitors in the Pacific night sky.

Editor's Note: The author is a Major Contributor to the North American Classics project.