Log crossing Photo by Roy Hughes

The thrill and quiet of our first summit was soon interrupted by dozens of horseflies that rocketed toward our sun-cooked arms and legs. For an hour we scanned the view and slapped at the green-headed, voracious predators. Then we hefted our packs and dropped 3,300 feet to the partially frozen Luna Lake. We were ravenous from the 11-hour day and decided to splurge on a Snickers Bar. We ate slowly, savoring the chocolate and nuts and nougat, directing every last calorie to our fatigued muscles. There were no blueberries at the lake. Here, above 5,000 feet in the North Pickets cirque, vegetation was scarce. For the next two days our playground would be rock, snow and ice.

From our campsite we could trace the following day's traverse around the U-shaped ridge. The route dropped from Luna Lake to a steep, icy glacier that skirted under Mt. Fury, over a moraine and up more glaciers littered with crevasses. From there it crossed a mile of exposed rock slabs and waterfalls and climbed to the knob of Challenger Arm.

Looking straight into the cirque, the traverse looked impossible. It was utterly vertical, and somehow we had to get across. My stomach spun at all those precipices.

But the next morning my crampons bit confidently into the steep glacier, finding a safe place for each step. What looked vertical from the campsite gradually flattened to a passable slope. The series of rock slabs and waterfalls turned out to be a moderate rise of solid rock across thin, tumbling cascades. It felt like a landscape from the game of "Candy Land." I laughed with relief as I splashed through the mirror-like pools and up the smooth rock.

We made camp on Challenger Arm and laid out our sleeping pads to enjoy the late afternoon sun. More than 21 summits jumbled tightly along the seven-mile crest to the south. We had the entire Picket range to ourselves. Even the bugs stayed below this elevation.

"Hundreds of white and black peaks rippled out under a turquoise sky. Mt. Baker and Shuksan looked close enough to touch..."

The next morning we left the tent and started up Challenger Glacier. In just under two hours we navigated several crevasses on solid snow to reach the base of the summit. Then came the crux: a steep scramble up loose rock, followed by a forty-foot, exposed 5.7 pitch to an airy pinnacle.

In thirty minutes, with minor grunting and swearing, we stood on top of the world. We had made it! Hundreds of white and black peaks rippled out under a turquoise sky. Mt. Baker and Shuksan looked close enough to touch. We could see our entire route and the labor of the next several days back to Big Beaver. I laid down on the warm rocks breathing deeply. Roy took pictures.

Just then I heard voices. After four days of solitude, the sound was jarring and unwelcome. I scowled as shouts of "on belay" and "climbing" floated past my resting spot. Thirty minutes later, a helmeted head popped over the rocks. "Hi," he said to us. "Almost there," he called down, and pulled three companions to the summit. They appeared to be in their late 20's. The leader had blond dreadlocks that hung to his shoulders. Another wore an Alpaca-wool cap with braided ear flaps. The other two seemed nervous as they crab-walked across the summit searching for a flat place to land.

"Hey," said Roy. "How was Easy Pass?" This group had finished the climb he had started five years ago. Roy wanted information: How were the crevasses? How was the bushwhacking? Was our route the better choice? I closed my eyes and concentrated on pushing my body into the warm rocks.

"It was tough, man," said the one with dreadlocks. Then the crinkle of plastic made me open my eyes. The climber with the wool cap held the biggest bag of gorp I had ever seen: easily three pounds of peanuts, cashews, M&M's and raisins. "Ugh," he said. "I should never have carried all this. I'll never finish it."

Roy's eyes got big and he inched closer to Gorp Man. "WellÉ" he started. "The funny thing is...we kind of have the opposite problem." Five minutes later they were laughing at our feeble attempts to boost our diet with blueberries and recycled tea bags. Gorp Man tossed the bag toward Roy. "Have as much as you want," he said. "The more you eat, the less I have to carry down." We each took a small handful, but when Gorp Man didn't reclaim the bag, we went for seconds, thirds and fourths. Now, it was a perfect summit.

For an hour we chatted and dozed with the group from Bellingham, Washington. Roy learned all he wanted to know about the Easy Pass route and decided our loop was more interesting and remote, two essential goals of our backcountry adventure. The foursome descended first, leaving us alone on Challenger for a few more minutes.

When we rappelled down to the glacier, I spotted a plastic bag stashed under a rock. I picked it up and found four energy bars inside with a note. "These are circa 1979, but they'll get you down." Our new friends had lightened their packs once more, and made our day.

With renewed energy and faith in human nature, we skipped down Challenger Glacier to the tent. Happy and relieved, we shared lunch and congratulated each other on our successful climb.

We still had three days to go, with more "unsavory" bushwhacking, a mile-long boulder field and slippery logs to manage. We would don crampons and a rope to descend the steep heather slope from Wiley Peak. It took us twelve hours to bushwhack from Eiley Lake down heather-choked gullies and through steep, jumbled forest mined with bee's nests to Big Beaver trail, and we didn' t reach Luna Camp until after dark. But we had Challenger in the bag and the thrill of success strengthened my stride and lifted weight from my shoulders.

When we reached the boat dock at Ross Lake we stripped naked and plunged into the cool, clean water. I scrubbed the bug spray and seven days of dust and discomfort from my body. The only food I carried out was a tin of sardines and four lemon candies. For all our complaining, it seemed I had packed just right. The memories of hunger, biting insects, treacherous gullies and icy glaciers faded to the background. In their place was the image of a gleaming, rugged wilderness and a quiet feeling of happiness.

-- by Pat Hughes, Mountainzone contributor