What makes for a classic adventure? Usually, it’s a combination of Type II fun with good friends doing something epic. I was Marie Kondo-ing older pictures and came across grainy snaps from just such a trip – Mt. Stuart 1991.

In the 80’s I was enjoying peak bagging in the Olympics and was introduced to rock climbing by new friends in Port Townsend. After ticking off the Olympic classics, Olympus, Brothers, Deception, etc., we were looking for the next challenge. Mt. Stuart came up for discussion: peak bagging with minimal risk of rain and rock climbing in the sun, a perfect combination.

Mt. Stuart is the distinctive 9,415’ peak granite spire visible from I-90 north of Cle Elum. At the time Stuart’s North Ridge route was gaining unfortunate global notoriety from Steve Roper’s Fifty Classic (‘crowded’) Climbs (1979). Being iconoclasts, we chose to attempt the West Ridge Direct, leaving the North Ridge to the lycra crowd. The West Ridge approaches the summit block through a distinctive couloir, crossing to the north side of the summit block for the finish.

Consulting my sketchy trip notes, I remember that we attempted the route twice that year. The first attempt failed when we got backed up behind a very slow party that would not give way at the base of the summit block. It was apparent that while we could summit, we would have to go down via a tamer route in the dark. Lacking headlamps, we bailed.

We came back later that month for a second attempt. As with most Type II fun all I can remember is big granite couloirs, warm easy class 4/5 rock, big holds and airy yet secure stances. The view from on top was outstanding revealing even more outstanding peaks to climb. Most memorable was another summit party who popped open a couple of parapentes and took off for the parking lot. Unfair! What I also remember was that I was never more tired in my life. Round trip to our camp below Ingalls Lake was 16 hours. I drug into camp and went to sleep in my clothes sans dinner. On the way out the next day we made a short, aborted attempt at Ingalls Peak. There simply was no more gas in the tank. We would tick off the peak on a later trip.

Never happened. Shortly after that climb the band broke up as we took jobs in different cities, life got in the way, and they were fewer climbing adventures. But boy, what a trip.