Cat Litter on Mount Shasta

Climbing Mount ShastaTopped by snow andinto bringing only a tarp, instead of the tent. The
glaciers, Mount Shasta rises up above everythingedges pulled loose in the wind again and again, until
else when you approach it from the north.Aswe pinned down one side with heavy rocks, and
soon as I saw it, I wanted to be up there. Wewrapped the other side around us. Dust blew in,
were coming south from Oregon, after drivingdespite the tight wrap and rain. I was enjoying
across the country from Michigan. A detour tothe adventure more than John, who was very
northern California before heading home seemedquiet. So I talked until he fell asleep.Climbing Mount
like a good idea to both of us."I wonder if weShasta"Apparently they start very early," John
could climb it?" I asked. John just nodded his headgrumbled. It was dark, but there were lights and
quietly, agreeing not to the climb, but to the factnoise from the tents around us. I stood up, and I
that he was wondering the same thing. I checkedsaw lights on the mountain a thousand up. It was
the map. Mount Shasta is 14,162 feet above sea5:30 a.m. Hmm... climbers start early. With that
level. I liked the idea of climbing that high."Havenew insight, we packed our daypacks, hid our big
you ever climbed a mountain," John asked me. Ibackpacks in the rocks, and stepped onto the
thought about it for a while. "Not really. A lot ofice.Helen Lake was a mile of ups and downs,
hills though."Mount Shasta City"Oh yes," the oldthrough sun-dished ice. Then we reached the
woman at the visitor's center told us, "peopleloose rock at the base of a steep slope, in
climb Mount Shasta all the time." John pointed outAvalanche Gully. We started climbing Mount
the glaciers on the map she had given us. "Oh,Shasta. an hour later, we quit."I can't do it," John
well, did you bring crampons and ice axes?" Johngasped. "Can't get enough air." We were at about
looked at me, and I could only say, "I've heard of11,000 feet, and we knew there was less
these things."We did have some gear: backpacks,oxygen, but this was the first time John had
sleeping bags, and a tent. John had good hikingactually been this high on foot. I once drove
boots, but mine were more like high-top shoes.higher in Colorado, but apparently driving wasn't a
Neither of us had ever used crampons or an icestrenuous enough for me to notice the thinner air.
axe, so we went the few blocks across town toI noticed it here. We both did. We sat down and
see what the guy at the climbing store had torested for a minute."Are you sure," I asked. He
say."Have you done any climbing before?" hewas - I wasn't. It was light now, and John didn't
asked us."A little," I answered, remembering thesee any problem hiking down the four hours to
buildings we used to climb on as teenagers, andthe car alone. I would go on to the summit, and
the rocks we had recently scrambled up inthen come back down by evening. I had to
Oregon. I figured we were ready for Mountcontinue. Mount Shasta was my first mountain,
Shasta."Well, you can't put crampons on thoseand I hadn't even used the poop bag yet.Altitude
boots," he said to John, "and you sure can't putSicknessThe "Red Bank" is a line of broken cliffs
them on those," he told me, shaking his head atabove Avalanche Gully. I scrambled, climbed,
my shoes. Crampons apparently need rigid bootsslipped on ice, and eventually found a way up and
- our mountaineering lesson of the day. We couldover. Then there were long steep slopes covered
rent them, but only if we rented realin loose rocks, with a few bamboo sticks marking
mountaineering boots also. "And you'll need icethe way. My route converged with that of the
axes, of course." I felt a pain in myother climbers, who had come up the snow-slope
wallet.Backpacking On Mount Shasta (Too Poorroute with crampons and ice axes.After much
For Climbing)A speeding ticket in North Dakotaclimbing, I finally made it to the summit, which is
had strained the budget, and Mount Shasta wascalled Misery hill, because it isn't actually the
another detour from the route and the budget.summit. It just seems like it should be. There was
We could, we decided, hike up the mountain andstill a mile of snow to cross, and then more rocky
do a little backpacking. Still, I had to ask, "Doterrain. One snow field had three-foot-high peaks
people climb Shasta without gear?" The storecovering it, like a huge merange pie.I rested a
owner realized that the sale was lost."It's beenmoment, and realized I'd been hearing a new
done," he answered impatiently."It's been done," Isound. Bang! Bang! Bang! It was the inside of my
reminded John as we drove up the road to Mounthead, which had never been so loud before.
Shasta. He didn't answer, which was a good sign. IHmm...interesting. I got used to the noise and pain
watched the Pine trees go by, andafter an hour or so.I got used to the smell of
absentmindedly poked a finger through a hole insulphur too. Mount Shasta, it turns out, is a
my shoe."Old Ski Bowl Trailhead," John said. Ivolcano. When John Muir climbed it more than a
looked over at the sign. "7,900 feet." We were athundred years earlier, he had to huddle next to
the trailhead, along with forty other cars, and itthe hot sulphur gas vents to survive a night near
was early enough to hit the trail.Mount Shastathe peak. He was alternately freezing and
Poop BagsWe looked at the registration forms,burning.At The Top Of Mount Shasta"So this is
and had a decision to make. There was a $10 feethe top?" I mumbled lamely to the guy who had
to hike or climb above "Horse Camp," at 8,400just told me the John Muir story. Clouds, and
feet. John pointed to a pile of paper bags, eachsmoke from forest fires, obscured the view in
with a handful of cat litter in it, and a plastic bagevery direction, but it felt good to be so high, and
to put it in. These were for carrying ourdown to the east, I saw my first glacier, a few
excrement off the mountain, a requirementhundred feet below."You can write your name in
above 10,000 feet. That clinched it. We put $10the register there," the guy told me, pointing to
each in the envelope and dropped it in the slot.something in the rocks. Guestbooks on top of
We couldn't pass up the opportunity to poop in amountains? Another lesson for the day. I signed
bag in the mountains. I took two for myself, inin, wrote some comment, and started down the
case of good luck.An easy trail took us to the hutmountain.Sun cups, or whatever they call those
and spring at Horse Camp. We filled our waterdepresions in the snow, fill with water in the
bottles. The dayhikers looked up at the mountainwarm afternoon sun - another discovery. I'd climb
through cameras, while the climbers cookedout of one ten-foot-wide bowl and slide into the
noodles and discussed weather reports. Theypond at the bottom of the next. This was the
looked at my shoes and smiled at each otherpattern until I thankfully reached the ankle-twisting
when I mentioned we might climb Mountmile of rocks piled up below Helen Lake. Climbing
Shasta.After Horse Camp the trail gets steeperdown, I realized, is more difficult than climbing up,
and rockier. The trees end at about 8,500 feet,or at least more dangerous.I found the trail, my
leaving only grasses, flowers, and other tundraheadache disappeared, I reached the road, where
plants. Then the trail gets lost in the rocks justJohn was waiting. By evening we were driving
before the steep climb up to Helen Lake.Wind Andtowards Michigan, Mount Shasta hidden in the
Rain At Helen LakeThere is no lake. Helen lake is aclouds and smoke behind us. Oh, and yes, I did
more-or-less level area of snow and ice. At theget to use the poop bag. Somewhere around
edge, overlooking Horse Camp far below, there11,500 feet, I think, which I remembered when I
are dusty clearings in the rocks where thewas looking through my pack. "Pull over at the
climbers camp. We found an empty spot and wenearest garbage can," I told John.Steve Gillman is
set up camp. The wind was howling. We were ata long-time backpacker, and advocate ultralight
10,440 feet.About the time the rain started, Ibackpacking.
realized it might have been a bad idea to talk John