It hasn't been a great winter so far. The scanty snowpack this season has meant poor skiing conditions and, worst of all, my alpine climbing ambitions were thwarted for more than a month after I sprained my ankle. (At Index, after one pitch on the first beautiful sunny day in weeks, I took a lead fall and whacked my foot on a flake on the way down. Gah. I got to hobble around and read about awesome climbs on the @$!%* Internet for five weeks.)

Finally, my ankle was feeling good enough to endure a day climb in some sturdy boots. Aaron, who climbed Ingalls Peak with me last fall, mentioned that he wanted to climb McClellan Butte. I had been eyeing that peak, too; it looked like an easy, interesting winter outing on steep snow, with a bit of rock scrambling up top. We were planning on using the north gully route, and expected a short trip—a friend of Aaron's had been back to the car by noon when he did it a week or so prior.

On the way up I-90 on a cloudy Saturday morning, we gaped at the thin snow cover. Even at 5000 feet, the south sides of most peaks were almost bare. Accordingly, the trail was snow-free past both logging road crossings. We had just barely gotten to snow level when we espied a big avalanche path just off the switchbacks on the right. This could have been our intended route, but it was covered in brush and utterly unappealing. We continued up the trail, but very shortly the switchbacks ended and the trail traversed under the southwest ridge.

A few more avy chutes crossed the trail, but they were either too small or blocked by wet rock bands. Finally, we came out onto a broad, snowy gully and took out our ice axes. We weren't far from the ridge by now, so it took us only a few minutes to ascend the moderate slopes on firm snow (no crampons needed). Nearer the ridge, the angle steepened and we had some fun climbing up loose, mossy rock (much like at Exit 38).

Tiny rime feathers on the rocks and a robust east wind gave our ridgetop position an alpine feel. We investigated the ridge southwest of us, where a rock outcrop rose a little higher. Aaron topped out on the pinnacle with a mantel move, one foot high on a very flexible tree, sending down a suitcase-sized rock in the process. The clouds lifted a little, and he saw the much-higher rocky summit back along the ridge in the other direction.

Traversing the ridge back toward the summit was good fun. We wove between trees and along narrow snowy crests, the wind keeping us careful with our steps. The summit block, bare and dusted with rime, looked intimidating to me, uninitiated as I am in the alpine arts. As I stood gaping, Aaron ambled up the rock past me. It was really quite easy scrambling on a well-worn path to the top, but I let the exposure get to my head. The wind was chilly on the summit, so we hunkered down behind a rock for lunch and hot tea.

Descending was more work than the climbing. At my suggestion, we took the snowy gully immediately east of our lunch spot and wound up above a rocky step a few hundred feet down. Snow was falling lightly in big flakes by now. I gingerly negotiated the step, working my ice axe into semi-frozen mud here and there. We crossed snowpatches and rock ribs, still traversing left, before we reached a broad slide path. Glad to be on secure, firm snow, we downclimbed the slope, soon reaching the trail.

On the way out, we somehow missed the trail where it crosses the first road and wandered down past several backcountry shootin' ranges, indicated by large piles of spent casings and beer bottles. We passed a lone hiker who seemed confused when we said we were on our way down, not up. Realizing our mistake a few minutes later when we passed a shot-up abandonded truck we hadn't seen on the way in, we trudged back to the obvious spot where the trail crosses the road. By three o'clock, we were back at Aaron's truck and wearing comfortable shoes.

Although we didn't climb the north gully and the descent was not ideal, I was satisified with the climb. We moved quickly, unroped, with one axe each and no crampons, all day. The windy ridge walk, firm snow, and muddy choss made the alpine experience complete, even if at a small scale. The clouds even parted now and then for views across the little cirque to Mount Kent's steep north face.

No good climb is complete without some good grubbin'. For the second time in as many trips, we filled our bellies at El Caporal, this time in North Bend.