Witches Tower (WA)

Dragontail Peak. Witches Tower is just over the pass.

At least a couple of my Summits of Sixty, I’ve pledged, must involve the use of a rope—and not for tying the beach chairs and beer cooler to the roof of the car. Yes, I’ve wanted to enjoy a couple of technical, though not too harrowing, treks (perhaps several?) this year involving passage over actual rock and/or ice, for the pure recreation of it.

In mid-August , as I made my way back to the Northwest for a week of fun, family and projects, my friend, Peter, of Bellingham, had already planned a five-day assault (nobody really assaults mountains) of Mount Challenger in the Picket Range with two of my old climbing buddies, Keith and Kiko. My timing was off by a day. Another friend was also busy with some other fun thing, so it was looking like I could be doing my climbing solo. Alas, the weather forecast turned slightly wet and Challenger was sadly (for Peter) and happily (for me) postponed. But resourceful Peter still had a free weekend and an instant plan B that fit both my schedule and my mountain inspiration perfectly: an easy, two-pitch rock route up the backside of Witches Tower in the Enchantment Lakes basin near sunny Leavenworth. The hardest part would be getting there.

Because the Enchantments are gorgeous, they are popular and at risk of being loved to death, and for that, overnight visits require much advance planning for a chance at a permit. We, of course, had no permit. Our only legal option was to make a long day of it—a 14-mile roundtrip hike gaining and losing 5,400 feet. At 30, even 40, I’d've called it a piece o’ cake. At 50 and over, I'll call it, well, invigorating. It also entailed a four-hour drive from Bellingham.

 

19. Witches Tower: Peter, Kiko and I (Keith smartly opted out) left the burger joint in Leavenworth after dark on August 17 and drove up the Icicle Creek Road to the trailhead. A lumpy flat in the woods would have to do for an unofficial camp. After a lumpy sleep on sticks and roots, we broke away at dawn and had the first four miles and 2,000 feet of gain under our belts by eight-something a.m. We enjoyed a breakfast stop, so to speak, on the rocks at Colchuck Lake, well inside the Alpine Lakes Wilderness. Dragontail Peak, which I also hoped to summit that day, loomed majestically above. Witches Tower remained hidden behind it.

Breakfast.

We rambled around the lake and over a boulder field to begin the steep, 2,200-foot infamous trudge to Aasgard Pass. It was a veritable goat trail. As I rounded a bushy bend in the steep and scrabbly path, a nanny and kid mountain goat stood ten yards ahead of me posing for a picture. Cool. I took my time heading up from there so as to preserve some energy for the climb of the Tower and, of course, the equally lengthy return to the car that would follow. I was also a little worried about my left knee, this particular body part having ached on and off for months and only recently feeling semi-normal again.

On the goat trail.

Colchuck Lake.

Little Annapurna from Aasgard Pass.

By 11:30 we reached the pass—and blue-sky views of the upper basin, the Tower, surrounding peaks and the pudgy dot of a lake now lying far below us. I shouldn’t be so descriptive. Most Cascade climbers would find all this to be a fairly straight-forward approach to a basic little rock climb. But compared to the Blue Ridge in Virginia, I felt chipper enough to be in the Alps. Beyond a tiny high lake, a steep, firm snowfield demanded ice axes, which we retrieved and stabbed into the slope with verve. We were soon at the col immediately behind our objective. We’d gained 5,000 feet over the course of the morning—a good test of my east coast legs. I felt great.

Witches Tower on the left.

Our route was more or less up the center.

From here, Kiko scurried up a class 3 scramble route on the south face of Witches Tower, while Peter and I contemplated where to begin the roped route up the West Buttress. In no time at all, Kiko was hooting from above, waving his arms from the pointy-hat summit. Peter and I differed on our preferred lines of attack (now who actually attacks mountains?), so as he further contemplated, I scrambled up the route Kiko followed and was soon waving down at Peter as well. Perhaps I was being unfair. Here, Peter is trying to make a serious climb out of this lovely rock pile, and Kiko and I are running up and down the peak like we’re playing King o’ the Hill. Kiko wanted no part of roping up, however, and after descending, headed off to Little Annapurna and his own explorations.

When I returned to the col, Peter had scoped out a more reasonable line of ascent and I quickly agreed to give it a go. He led it all, mostly class 4 with a short class 5 chimney, which was plenty for me, having not even donned a climbing harness or clipped into a spring-loaded cam for at least three summers. And just like that, we scooted up the granite, solid and broken into handholds and footholds in all the right places. I pushed through the chimney, around a corner and up a little friction face and there was the summit. The views of the Enchantment Lakes basin was stupendous (there’s a word I’ve rarely used). Dragontail Peak was close by and the main ridge led south to the rounded top of Little Annapurna. We collected a few hero shots, enjoyed a rest and began the descent, which included a memorable little spot on a ledge where you get to step across absolute nothingness. It was an easy step, though it bumped up my pulse a couple of beats.

Peter leading the climb.

Peter on the summit.

The view of the Enchantment Lakes.



Given the long upward grind from the car, the extra scramble up the summit, and the fact that it was now 5 p.m., I knew Dragontail was out of the running and, mildly disappointed, I let it go. The Witches Tower was enough success for one day and now I needed to get down. The left knee had finally come around and was beginning to complain a little about the extent of the day’s adventure. Peter raced off to Little Annie, since he had not yet do-si-doed up that easy summit (I’d been up there several times). While he dashed southward, I managed a controlled slide down the hard snow using my ice axe as a rudder and brake. I skittered back to the pass and worked my way down the rubble trail at a careful pace. I made decent time, but knew that Peter (a veritable billy goat himself) would eventually catch me—and that he did at the exact spot I’d stashed a few cold beers at a tiny creek crossing that morning. Kiko, after summiting Little Annapurna, opted to hike out the long way, a chance to trek through more miles of high-end scenery, essentially the entire basin. He would exit via the Snow Lakes Trail. We would pick him up later on our way back to Leavenworth.

By the time Peter and I finished our beers, it was dark enough for headlamps and we stumbled the final few miles to the car. He spotted a rubber boa along the way, an intriguing, harmless and rarely seen green snake the size of a typical garter snake, and we watched it writhe in his hand awhile. The knee by then was not happy and the last two miles did not register well on the fun-o-meter. The parking lot finally emerged from the darkness and we were soon depacked and debooted and on our way to find Kiko. We reached him a bit after 10 p.m. He’d been lying on a picnic table debating whether to call for search and rescue. He’d left us in a potentially precarious place with no assurance of our safety. It was nice that he was concerned. Peter had to work the next morning, which meant four hours of driving before we could fully relax after an ambitious day. Kiko and I let Peter sleep in the back seat of his Prius and traded off steering duty on the endless drive home. By 2:30 a.m. we were back in Bellingham, exhausted campers, but happy ones nonetheless. For me, it was nineteen down and 41 to go.

Miles (RT):  14.0 miles; elevation gain: 5,400 feet

Cumulative mileage and gain:  106.1 miles / 32,950 feet

 



Rubber boa.