Brian and I had stopped in deep snow for a bite to eat and a look at the fan. I had agreed to do as much trail breaking and lead as much easy ground as possible to keep Brian fresh for the harder bits of leading. Looking up at the ice, we decided to try to skirt it on the right up what looked like easy snow. This would allow us to continue to solo and we wouldn't lose time to roping up unneccessarily, something we were trying to avoid if possible, just to keep moving quickly. This proved to be a mistake.

I went up right on firm snow and moderate ice, aiming for a small notch on the extreme right of the gully. Unfortunately, as I moved further up, the snow and ice became quite thin over loose and slick rock. I traversed over to a small bit of snow and held up. Brian decided to try to move on up through the section. We were at the far right edge of the gully.

I didn't want to be too close behind Brian, should he unfortunately fall with me in his line. We uttered this fact more or less simultaneously to one another and Brian inched slowly up. Meanwhile, I looked to my right to see if there might be a way to escape the gully for a short stretch and then drop back in higher. There was loose, snow-covered rock and a downed tree branch above me. I fumbled around in the section for a short while but judged it a little too sketchy. I waited for Brian... And then I heard him say, "Might want to go ahead and climb up out if you can. This is less than ideal."

I nodded and started up, despite the loose nature of the short climbing section. I excavated a large amount of snow and found small ledges and pockets. I scrambled up, still unroped, and began to burrow my way through very deep snow and veggies to a tree just above Brian.

My partner seemed stuck and I called down to him. Brian answered by saying that he'd worked himself into a spot that was too skittish to climb up, too risky to climb down. He wanted to climb up the mixed section out the gully, but wasn't too sure about the prospect. "Want a rope?" I asked. A pause. Then an "Expletive. Yes."

I had to work up through steep, deep snow to a safe belay spot, then get one rigged, get a rope out and dropped to Brian. It was more complicated and strenuous than it sounds, and it took a while. Brian got a little, shall we say, expletive curious about my progress, which was out of his sight (and his predicament was likewise out of mine). We exchanged brief plesantries with one another and then I dropped the line to him, onto which I had tied, according to Brian, "The worst-looking figure eight on a bight" he'd ever seen. An interesting comment under the circumstances...

Anyhoo, out climbs Brian. He joins me at a truly filthy pile of snow, rock and rotten trees. He had spotted another party of two coming up behind us and they were now at the fan. They too were soloing, but had felt confident enough to climb the first bit of pure water ice solo and were now trying to get up the second, short but nearly vertical section, again unroped. We didn't ask, but it seemed they weren't keen on taking the time to rope up either. But they were clearly more comfortable climbing the ice than Brian and I. They eventually gave up on the steep short section and headed over left. (As an aside, we finally called out to them to ask them what route we were on - very embarrassing. They said they "thought" it was Landslide.)

Well, this is where the title of this trip report comes in. The whole time we were climbing the weather was heading south. It started out bad and was getting worse. We'd made it up about two-thirds of the route, but the upper mountain was disappearing from view, and having been hammered by one too many storms and brutal cold (I was nursing frostnip on my left ring finger and several toes, suffered on a particularly silly traverse attempt the week before) in the last year, I was the first to comment on conditions. I knew that we were going to get bludgeoned by the weather if we we tried to go higher on the route. Realistically, I thought there was about a 90% chance that we'd have to bail further up. Perhaps selfishly and with some measure of timidity to be sure, I suggested that we weigh our options carefully, with an eye toward practicality and a respect for the elements.

Brian quickly and rightly brought to my attention that, now that we were out of it, we were going to have a hell of a time getting back into the gully. Above us was very deep snow and rough, mixed ground. It was difficult to see if there was any feasible way back onto the route, but it didn't look good. The snowfall was steady and the potential avy danger was beginning to concern me. Through it all, my internal barometer was falling fast. I suggested we bail. I felt really bad about it for countless reasons and on multiple levels, not the least of which was potentially letting my partner down. But I just thought it was inevitable, and at least from where we were it would be less complicated than a little further up.

He didn't want to do it, and neither did I. But Brian finally said, "You're right. It's probably best. Expletive. Let's go."