I’ve always believed in pushing limits, testing endurance, and embracing the adventure. But sometimes, adventure pushes back—hard.
Mt. Shasta holds a special place in my life. It was the first 14er I ever climbed, back in 2011, alongside my brother Jonathan (JC). It was also where I learned one of life’s most brutal lessons: Clif Bars are not a full nutrition plan when climbing 7k feet... in a day.
For my 2nd attempt up the mtn, Tracy, JC, and I decided to send Shasta in a day. When timed properly, you can score just shy of 7k vertical feet of riding near perfect corn snow - a springtime treasure that’s almost as satisfying as fresh powder.
Corn snow forms after repeated freeze-thaw cycles, creating large, rounded crystals that behave like silky groomers, typically on big natural terrain. On a good day, it can stack up 8–10 inches deep and ride almost identically to powder—but without the same avalanche risk. It’s predictable, fast, and buttery smooth, making it one of the most fun (and safe) types of snow to chase in the spring.
To stay light and fast, I packed only water and a bunch of Clif Bars, thinking, "One bar every 1,000 feet should keep me fueled and ready to go." This logic, in theory, seemed sound. In execution? A crappy mistake.
The day started strong. We moved quickly, enjoying the kind of crisp alpine morning that makes you feel invincible. I downed a Clif Bar every 1,000 feet like clockwork. At first, I felt great.
Not long into the climb, before the real suffering set in, I stopped to take the photo Cosmic Climb. I wanted to capture the feeling of moving through the night, surrounded by nothing but stars, with the peak still looming ahead. With no time for a complicated setup, I went as simple as possible—I placed my camera on my backpack, set a self-timer, and told JC and Tracy to pause in a skinning position for 25 seconds.
They didn’t want to stop. Nobody wants to stop in the middle of a huge climb just for a photo. This is why I find is very important to be in as good of shape as possible, to be able to rip ahead, setup and shoot while athletes pass and not bother their pace. I knew this moment, this section of the ascent, would be the only time we’d catch the milky way behind them before the sun rose. During the exposure, I flicked my headlamp on and off to light them just enough. Sometimes, less is more when it comes to making things like this work. No extra lights, no tripods, no elaborate setup—just an improvised plan that, like the climb itself, came together through patience and problem-solving. It took me a few tries to dial it in, but when i nailed it they were stoked to continue moving as they were now pretty cold.
Later, around 13,000 feet, my gut revolted. This wasn’t just the standard high-altitude discomfort most folks get with rapid ascending of mountains. No. This was something worse. My stomach began twisting itself into an avalanche-ready mess, and by 13,800 feet, standing in the open on a sheet of ice, I realized: I needed to go. Immediately.
There was just one problem. We were completely exposed—nowhere to hide, no rocks, no trees, just ice, wind, and a panoramic view of Northern California. And worse? I hadn’t brought a Wag Bag higher than 13k cuz we decided to stash our splitboards + most of our gear there for our summit push.
For those unfamiliar with Wag Bags, they are exactly what they sound like: a government-mandated system for, well… handling your business in high-altitude, leave-no-trace zones. It’s a paper target that you aim for, wrap up burrito-style, and seal in a plastic bag with some cat litter to help dry it out.
JC had already used his, which meant my only option was Tracy’s unused Wag Bag. I turned to her with pure desperation in my eyes and asked the unthinkable: "Tracy… do you really have to go? Because I really have to go."
She hesitated, clearly not thrilled with the idea of sharing a Wag Bag situation, but I didn’t have time for further debate. "Look," I bargained, "If you have to go, you can use it first, and I’ll carry it. In fact… I’ll carry BOTH our shit for the rest of the climb and all the way back down."
So, there I was. 13,800 feet or so up, in the most exposed place imaginable, squatted over a Wag Bag, making terrible life choices.
After the incident, we continued climbing light and fast, reaching the summit without issue. The view was incredible, and despite the suffering, it was worth every step. By the time we strapped into our snowboards for the descent, my stomach had settled, and I was finally able to focus on the joy of riding down perfect corn snow.
Mt. Shasta humbled me that day, but it also gave me one of the most incredible alpine experiences of my life. The image Cosmic Climb is a reminder of the quiet, surreal beauty of moving through the mountains at night, long before the real suffering began.
And next time? I’ll pack real food.
Big thanks to Tracy for pulling up these photos from the climb. I had a hard-drive failure in 2015 which resulted in losing my digital life. Maybe ill do a post about how not to do that? In the meantime, if you're passing through Mt Shasta, stop by Shasta Mountain Guides to checkout a gigantic print of the milkyway behind the counter.
