Through swirling hazes of candy bar wrappers, granola bar crumbs, and sticky pockets of old snacks, I have spent most of my summer in mountain clothes – painfully dull in style, their only reprieve is function and application. Sixty-nine days between May and September, to be exact, and these are only the work days. I am not even counting my personal days. One of my good friends, Ezra, asks “Cal’ what do you do on your days off? How do you spend your time?” If one reads my bio on Alpine Ascents’ website, you learn of my cafe lurking habits. What exactly is accomplished during this cafe time escapes me; instead, what is done is indulge in the liquid-black gold, soft tunes, and evanescent people watching within the Emerald City. Historically, cafes have been a boon to my mood, psyche, and productivity for anything that demands laptop time. Cafes have also been great creative spots for all of my work. Something about the dynamic jumble prevails in my mind from overthinking into a spiral of moods. Or perhaps my brain functions more acutely when I can write my thoughts down, forcing me to pump the mental breaks. If you know me personally, you will know I tend to talk fast and mumble. Leaning into previous methods of decompression, writing has been something I have always been fond of. Fantasizing of honing my oratory skills, something about a verbal lexicon has always piqued my brain. Admittedly, I must also thank my brother Owen for indulging in writing and pursuing an MFA. It has been some time since I have enjoyed a good mental brain vomit, and frankly, I have yearned to reflect on my trips with more fervor. Too much has happened and past this summer to warrant no summary. Perhaps this will be a return to form or a rounding out of my current form. Considering the raw amount of time I spend in the physical world, moving rope, giving commands, consuming food, packing in and out of bags, writing, and reflecting will round out my thoughts. Shaping visions and epiphanies so I may feel more fulfilled and more significant than these demolished candy bar wrappers and Mountain Project ticks. Considering the rough fifty days worked thus far, I reckon the best place to start is on my most recent work trip – The Inspiration Glacier.

This post is a breakaway from my traditional ones. I want to extrapolate my experiences as an Indigenous mountain guide while reflecting on the actual guiding/ mountain experiences in a trip report format, as they fuel one another, teaching me more about myself in time and place. More to come on the extrapolation of my identity in the next post; for now, I hope you enjoy this recap of my trip to the Eldorado Zone, where I had a fantastic opportunity to do some onsight guiding, which, I feel, is the pinnacle form of guiding.

The Eldorado Zone

Boston Basin is arguably the epicenter of alpine climbing in N. Cascades Nat’l Park; however, the Eldorado Zone has always been more appealing. In my more-amateur days of mountaineering, the fearsome knife-edge ridge of Eldorado Peak had a reputation that proceeded it. Back in 2021, I had the opportunity to guide the peak through Climbers of Color, where one of our clients, Aileen Imperial, centered this climb on her documentary And We Rise. This expedition was harrowing. Gnarly weather flooded campsites and a river crossing; the other guides and I were surprised we reached the summit. Throughout the breaks in the storm, glimpses of the Inspiration Glacier and its granitic towers emerged. 

Since this initial visit, I have had the mountains looming at the back of my to-do list. Slowly ticking away are prerequisite climbs and skills; getting out to the zone came sooner than expected and out of left field. Early in my summer guiding this year (2023), I met Sarah G., on a climb of Sunh-ado through Miyar Adventures. Remarking on other trips Miyar offers, I mentioned the Inspiration Zone and its alluring attractions to Sarah. I am learning the crafty ways of pitching trips and expeditions to my friends, let alone clients; however, upon return from this trip, Sarah and I had penciled in a date to climb The Dorado Needle!

Offering a smattering of alpine climbing, The Inspiration Glacier has numerous granitic towers accessed from a beautiful campsite at the toe of the East Ridge of Eldorado Peak. A myriad of routes in moderate grade (<5.9) exist – one just has to endure the 5,400’ of elevation gain on a notorious steep climber’s trail, plus a tailing boulder field. After waiting in line to print our permits in Newhalem, Sarah and I raced off to the trailhead only to start by 1100 – 5 hours after we left Seattle. We were in for a fight through the temps, eventually taking a siesta at Roush Creek. Pressing forward, we crested the Eldorado Glacier, our campsite finally came into view after 6.5 hours of walking. Curbing the rope and putting layers on, we cruised the benign glacier in favor of establishing camp, cooking dinner, and getting to bed. 

Previous trips to the zone yielded heinous weather, post-holing nightmares, and sideways rain. This morning broke way to a truly beautiful sunrise, promptly heating up the day. Our objective for day one of climbing was The East Ridge from the Toe (AKA “sit-start”) on the Dorado Needle. Combing through a plethora of beta on the internet, I learned an AMAGA Advanced Alpine Guide Course at camp, which had participants climb the route the day prior. Receiving final reassurances on the quality and condition of the route, Sarah and I boogied across the Inspiration Glacier, passing over its col on the Klawatti Glacier, arriving at the base in roughly 90 minutes. 

Climbing the East Ridge sit-start involves an initial 600’ or so of climbing up to 5.6 on decent rock. Beginning with exposed moves directly off the glacier, I felt energized to be back in the saddle of alpine guiding. Especially on sight guiding! Continuing forward, we short-roped and pitched the next 500’ of climbing on low fifth-class terrain following boot-prints of previous climbers and broken terrain. Arriving at the infamous “CB,” we were moving quite well through the first third of the climbing. 

The second third begins with stepping onto the glacier, then regaining the rock and climbing to a gendarme just before the headwall. Navigating the transitions between rock and snow was trivial in our conditions; however, I can imagine that section not going in later season conditions. This next section of rock was admittedly underwhelming. Most of it was 3rd – 4th class, though, featuring tons of scree and loose rock, so movement proved tenuous in a guiding context. Erroring to climber’s right and avoiding dropping too low, we arrived at a fun & secure 10’ section of vertical climbing, gaining the tow of the gendarme. Belaying Sarah up to here and then down to the base of the gendarme was superbly exposed! Soaking in the surrounding views, we were delighted with the route, and its exposure, even through all the loose bits. Reports on the rappels of the gendarme were scant. Eventually, I found the first, only 15m skiers’ right of the initial rappel, and the next touched you down to the base of the headwall. Along these rappels, you can observe the headwall pitches directly across the notch, which looked intimidating for only 5.7. Pulling the ropes also proved quite dubious, considering the strong and gusty wind, but luckily enough, we got them down, slurped down some snacks and water, laced up our climbing shoes, and blasted up the money pitches!

Up to here, I had been climbing in my mountain boots, but the desire to feel nimble and agile won me over. The AMGA participants reported climbing in their boots, which seemed possible for me, though I had much more fun in my shoes. Clipping an old piton ~8’ off the belay, the terrain gave way to good exposure and mostly solid features. Before I knew it, I reached the belay ledge (as seen above), only to see my friend Kevin and his two clients top out the gendarme!

The following money pitch was relatively short; at least, I broke it up for a fantastic photo opportunity. Great broken-finger cracks led to a brief hand/fist crack ending on a sizeable ledge with ample anchor options. The rest of the climbing to the summit was 3rd – 4th class scrambling, albeit exposed. The descent, however, was something else. To avoid a play-by-play review, I will leave the descent as an adventure for you to discover as I found it a fulfilling challenge to onsight. Cheers. 

            Opening up our new pajamas on Christmas Eve, elaborate Halloween decorations throughout the house, there some things my family just does. Most of us play volleyball, basketball or were runners in high school. I fell into this last category as I have poor hand-eye coordination. Competing in Track and Field in Spring and Cross Country in the Fall, running was a focus of mine year-round. One summer I recall we ran at least or close to 1,000 miles, I am still quite proud of this. While in school I was unaware of this incredible gift my coaches, Phil “Mister” English, Robert Price and Antony Stewart showed me. Molded by the intense summer heat, I owe my passion and inclination for endurance sports to these mentors and my setting. One tradition I was never taught though was dancing in pow wows. Both my sisters, my mother and my three uncles danced and competed in pow wows. This tradition was something I would have to seek out for my own and adapt my energy toward. All of my energy had been devoted to running in the streets, then trails and these days in the mountains. Please, let me tell you a story of how an Urban Native taught himself how to dance at the feet of Takhoma.

            As I press for more adventures in the alpine, I continue discovering how connected everything is. It is one thing to have this told to you by an elder but quite another to experience it. Recently, I experienced a new perspective of a common phrase in Indian Country – All my relations. On Thursday July 23^rd I set out from Me-yah-ah Pah, an old Yakama hunting ground on the East side of Takhoma. My goal was to explore parts of the Northern Wonderland Trail. Like dancing, no one had told me of Me-yah-ah Pah or its significance for my people. Often, I think of when my ancestors visited this place, the source of water and life, Takhoma. All of my relations, past, present, future even. Those current, The Cowlitz, Nisqually, Puyallup, Suquamish and Muckleshoot visit Takhoma from the West. But how do fit into this saying – all of my relations. How do I relate to all my relations? Unsure of my own connections, it found me on a long run where I started at none other than Me-yah-ah Pah. I will not ever forget the sunrise. Crimson and salmon-pink rays glowed on the upper mountain as I sipped instant-coffee and munched on blueberries. Between all of the sights and smells, I knew I was in for a good, long day of my favorite thing in the world in a place which has been home to me before I have even walked these plane’s or climbed to the top.

            Visiting the top about a dozen times before then so much was left to learn. The true gift of Takhoma does not lie at 14,410’, it lies all around him. It has taken me a long time to figure this out, but I am learning to sit in this growth I have gone through. Don’t get me wrong, I am still driven to get to the top of places. I just know I will learn more if it is not my priority and, on this day, it was all about learning and seeing. Bounding up and down the valleys was unforgettable. Spending most of the day in long sections of being alone, the open rolling spaces kept me from feeling it. Throughout the whole day, no matter how tired, thirsty, hungry or whatever, I always felt like I belonged there. This feeling kept with me pushing into the 13^th hour of the day. Driving up in elevation and mood, the discomfort of this run had been unlike any before. Just as the sun was setting, I headed back to Me-yah-ah Pah. As if the day were turned upside down and reversed, the sky looked the same but felt more familiar this time. Striding out the downhills and plopping my legs in a grinding walk uphill, I threw up a Black Lodge Singers album on my phone – something I enjoy doing every now and then. I was always curious why my grandpa, mom or my uncles enjoyed listening to pow wow music, but they had danced in their lifetime. Maybe that’s why they enjoy it. The stadiums full of people, drummers, dancers, singers, everything. Sitting there always as a spectator was me with my grandparents who hardly danced in their elder years. But this day, I was the only person in the stadium. Running to the beat now, my heart and the drums were competing for the tempo only to succumb to the terrain but, even then I stayed on beat with Takhoma, we stayed on beat together.

P.S. See this Strava Post detailing the stats on my run!

Under the tutelage of elders who carried us into times which make us proud to be Indian – we must serve those to come by making everyone accepting of Indians.

            Resting easy over the Yakama Nation, Pahto has provided for our people since time immemorial. Standing at 12,280’, Pahto’s gentle Southern rising slopes attract hundreds of amateur mountaineers and skiers alike; though, most only know its English name, Mt. Adams. Growing up my grandfather told me stories of her relations with the other snowy peaks of the region. In one story, the Three Sisters that are Pahto, Kittitas and Wy’east all bid and feud for Takhoma’s adornment. However, the plague of colonization has since removed the language, land and people from one another. Seeking to decolonize and reclaim these sacred places, my brother Owen Oliver of the Chinook People and I began with Pahto in October of 2019. Though on a fine sunny and windless day the summit remained out of reach leaving our ceremony incomplete. Transitioning to Spring, stories shifted toward Wy’east – whose pride pours over our ancestral homeland.

            August of 2016 was my last visit to Wy’east, when my interest in mountaineering had just began. Not much younger but much more brash and ignorant to consequences of mountaineering, my friend Carter and I were ill-prepped. Foregoing crampons under the impression the Pearly Gates was an easy 3^rd class snow chute, we chugged up the resort as one does to find bergschrund in firm conditions. Yet we pressed on. Tip-toeing on the edge of the ‘schrund, cutting steps exacerbated the raining rockfall. Considering the overhead hazards, we opted to stay a bit climber’s left. In full swing with my adze, a whistle shot past my head. Thinking we were safe from any rockfall, Carter’s ghost-white face tells otherwise. Utterly unprepared for this route, numerous red-flags kept rising as we kept ignoring them. But at the time we did not know otherwise and felt committed. Pressing forward, this was the first summit both of us regretted obtaining as the down-climb would be equally as troubling.

            Taking a sip of coffee while telling this story to Owen, I hoped to impart some wisdom, or maybe reassurance that I have seen some shit or something to justify my mistakes. As if I were an aged warrior struggling to remain consequential… but I cannot find anything. Instead, this story simply highlighted my mistakes, ignorance and luck. My immaturity especially in the mountains. For our journey to Wy’east, I am not much older, still as brash in some ways, but have developed a head about me. I am more in tune with my actions and their consequences, but most importantly – in tune with who I am separate of my passion for being outside. Before, I walked with all the invincibility a 19-year-old thinks they have. Unnerved by this ignorance on a wild ride into the night. Though, along the way maturity got a firm grip slapping me straight. I am grateful it did not come through a physical punishment. The source of the growth was spurred by a University trip to Southeast Alaska in the small village of Hoonah. Gathered around a table with my peers, my professor and a few elders listened to Bob Starbard, CEO of the Hoonah Indian Association (HIA). “Preserves are for berries, picked and sugar coated. Perpetuation is the answer.” – with respect to my question of how one may preserve Indigenous Culture(s). Unaware of the gravity of his words, I am learning to unpack them with my own discovery of ceremony.

            My perspective of how I recreate and move in the backcountry is shaped by everything else in my life. It sounds silly to state, but it is important that I continually remind myself. Upon starting these sports, I was fueled and directed by athletic performance – my roots of distance running in high school are obvious. However, I now feel strong enough to own this energy and redirect it toward contemporary methods of ceremony. Seeking to re-engage in reciprocity with the Three Sisters, Takhoma and others, my gift is not an ability to move quickly and efficiently in such places; rather, to reconnect with all of my relations physically and spiritually. Recalling Owen’s first interest in such sports, I was unaware of the energy he would bring along these journeys. Before, my memory of Wy’east was clouded by a need to conquer and claim victory. Influenced by a settler-colonial mindset to tame land and its wild spaces. Now, through Owen’s pressing of my knowledge and growth, my vision is clearing. Standing proudly with my brother and Wy’east, the spring sky illuminates our respective homelands from the summit – The Columbia Plateau and the Columbia River. Considering my revitalized connections with these relations, I feel if I were to not share, to not confidently and proudly hold my space in these sacred places, I sugarcoat my existence and collective Indigenous culture.

            The allure of Takhoma has long preceded the brutal conquest that replaced names of its features with names adapted for the English tongue. Ascending its trails and traversing its glaciers with these adapted names lures us into forgetting the history carried in this land. Naming is a central act of building a long-standing connection with the landscape; with this power, connections and long-standing ones can be severed. Takhoma, known as Mt. Rainer in English, has been a feature of allure long before the colonial conquest of these lands. The conquest of these lands also extended to the highest summits and consequently fostered the culture of climbing we have inherited today. Even though I, a native person, once set out to conquer this sacred mountain for selfish intent, I have educated myself on this sacred place’s original caretakers and name-givers. This original name reflects an ethic of reciprocity. Before I learned about this relationship of such things, I sought to only take from his — Takhoma’s — hands to put into mine. However, personal growth and education have opened my hands, and as I now raise them to him (Takhoma) in thanks, I reach out to help others grow and learn as I have.

           If you also seek the summit, educate yourself on the history and facts behind the Indian removal from these lands. Acknowledging the removal of children from their families and the cultural genocide at boarding schools like Fort Simcoe on the Yakama Reservation is a pathway toward reparation and justice. Within education and awareness of these atrocities lay justice for the Yakama People and solutions to work together as different communities share spaces on Turtle Island. One easy thing you all may do to work for this is to begin your journey of education on Indigenous erasure here within Takhoma’s reach. I enact this responsibility as the next Cowlitz and Yakama Mountain Guide, following Chief Sluiskin’s legacy. Aspiring to heighten Indigenous voice and presence on Takhoma, I seek to perpetuate the teachings and wisdom of elders like Sluiskin. However, it cannot be completed without education on Isaac and Hazard Stevens’ roles with the Indigenous Peoples of Washington. As the Governor of WA in the 1850s, Isaac oversaw the murder of Chief Leschi and the atrocities of the Yakima Wars. Whereas Hazard partook in Indigenous erasure on his ascent of Takhoma, effectively contributing to a stereotype of Indian culture being dead and stuck in time. I imagine my life was not envisioned by Chief Sluiskin of the Yakama and Cowlitz Nations, although I am sure he would be proud. I am another Yakama and Cowlitz Mountain Guide on Takhoma, where Sluiskin was the first. This legacy I work in would not exist without him (Sluiskin), though its barriers were established by Isaac and Hazard Stevens’ legacies.

          My people, the Yakama, would visit Me-Yah-ah Pah in the spring as a fairweather village; they would subsist off the land, living close to our mother of water and life. My people, the Yakama, sought their Honorable Harvest on the mountain’s East side. Engaging in seasonal hunting, berry picking, and ceremony, the Yakama are a few of the many who continue to give thanks to Takhoma. Through time, foreigners’ intense curiosity for exploration grew into greed for conquering nature. Sieging to ‘tame’ the ‘wild’ nature, colonizers imposed new purposes for these sacred areas to only serve humans, breaking the engagement of reciprocity. This newly assigned purpose flows only through the path of greed and consumption. To the West of Takhoma, the Cowlitz, Muckleshoot, Nisqually, Puyallup, and Squaxin Islands remain stewards to their respective sacred lands. Formed and segregated as a national park in 1899, the boundary of more than 200,000+ acres was shaped by treaties established with these six nations. The Medicine Creek Treaty of 1854 and the Yakama Nation Treaty of 1855 are the de jure rule of what is now called Mt. Rainier National Park. These treaties continue to be ignored, neglected, and tarnished by those who call themselves ‘leaders’ of the established park. The National Park Service (NPS) stated in the Historical Overview of Indians and Mount Rainier that“…Mt. Rainier National Park, like other national parks, commemorated Indians’ past use of the area through Indian place names”; claiming this is a “white American fondness for Indian names’ as a ‘form of nationalism.’” This statement shows extreme irony and bigotry as Indian names, words, culture, and identity were meant to be killed in boarding schools with the motto – Kill the Indian, save the man.

Native Americans were ultimately removed from the proximity of Takhoma while settlers moved in and began their conquests for the summit, a place previously not for the two-legged. In the days of Sluiskin of the Upper Cowlitz, Chief Si’ahl of the Duwamish from which the city of Seattle is named, Takhoma’s summit was not a place for the two-legged. A Yakama story I have read tells of a man once who pushed to the summit in the name of greed. Upon reaching the summit, he found Takhoma’s riches but was warned of the cost of his greed and selfishness. Along his journey, this man lost the way of his elders and community. He forgot his people’s ethics and the respect you give back to the land. In the story’s resolution, the man re-buries the treasure for no one, not for someone else to find, as it only belongs to Takhoma. Desiring to own and have control of the domain over Takhoma is dubious. I do not own Takhoma even though my people have been around since time immemorial. Instead, we are stewards watching over the well-being of the land and the continuation of it for the sake of future generations and all to benefit from.

Experiencing the nourishment and nurture of being on the land, I now know I am not the only Urban Indian who may connect to their culture. You see, I did not grow up with my community or my culture. I grew up in the city, an urban environment detached from other Indigenous people and cultures. Until I had made connections and relationships with the land, my Indigenous identity meant nothing more than an enrollment number and I.D. Just the way the forces of colonization had planned. But upon overcoming this systemic barrier and oppression, I know I am not alone, and others need space to move up. Through this new perspective gifted from Takhoma, there is something the two-legged can learn and pass on if an understanding of reciprocity is upheld.

It was not until I received an education from my peers, elders, community, and mentors that I earned this treasure — A commodity more valuable than buried gold — and it is my turn to pass this wisdom on. To the other two-legged who seek to conquer the wilderness, to the Urban Native kids who do not have community or identity. To my clients when they rope up with me. To those who seek Takhoma’s summit. During my days of peak-bagging and ‘conquering’ mountains, I, too, was lost like the Yakama man, searching for mythic treasures buried high on mountain summits.  This gift is never truly yours; it belongs to the next person to come and to those behind them. It may come in self-restoration after trials and tribulations or after a sense of accomplishment over triumphing physical or mental boundaries. Whichever it is, once you find it with Takhoma, be sure not to wield it. Knowledge and education are not weapons. Walk with it. Share with those in your community what you will do with this new knowledge. Utilize what you were gifted to educate your family and community because making them aware of the journey will spoil Takhoma’s gift.

Whether you reach the summit or not, Takhoma has given you energy. I ask that you redirect it so that it may enrich others.

Sincerely,

Cal’ James Smith, grandson of Red Smith of the Yakama and Yvonne Vivette of Grand Ronde