REPORT: Self-supported 460mi Washington High Five FKT

Christof Teuscher

Team HairNoHair completed the self-supported Washington High Five FKT in 14 days, 13 hours, 39 minutes, and 37 seconds.

In a nutshell

Team HairNoHair completed the self-supported Washington High Five FKT in 14 days, 13 hours, 39 minutes, and 37 seconds. We summited the five highest peaks on the Washington Bulger List (Baker, Glacier Peak, Little Tahoma, Rainier, and Adams), the only summits that clear 10,000 feet, and linked them up entirely on foot and self-supported. The final route was just short of 460mi with 112,000ft of elevation pain.

The Washington High Five challenge

The Washington High Five (WH5) is inspired by the five glaciated stratovolcanoes (Mt, Baker, Glacier Peak, Little Tahoma, Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams) that anchor the skyline of Washington State, the deep mountaineering history of the Cascade Volcanic Arc, and the lineage of long-form FKTs that gather groups of peaks and reward endurance, glacier travel, scrambling, off-trail navigation, and self-supported logistics. The five highest Washington peaks over 10,000ft, with elevation and prominence in feet:

  • Mount Rainier, 14,411ft of elevation, 13,210ft of prominence
  • Mount Adams, 12,276ft of elevation, 8,116ft of prominence
  • Little Tahoma, 11,138ft of elevation, 818ft of prominence
  • Mount Baker, 10,781ft of elevation, 8,830ft of prominence
  • Glacier Peak, 10,541ft of elevation, 7,497ft of prominence

The WH5 goal is to summit them all and to link them up on foot.

Our route for the Washington High Five FKT.

Little Tahoma carries far less prominence than the others, since it rises off the eastern flank of Rainier rather than from an independent base. It is included for two reasons. First, by elevation it is the third-highest peak in Washington, and the five summits of this route are precisely the five highest peaks on the Washington 100 Highest, or Bulger List, the historic peakbagging roster compiled by the Bulgers group in 1976. Ranked by elevation, the list runs Mount Rainier (14,411 ft), Mount Adams (12,276 ft), Little Tahoma (11,138 ft), Mount Baker (10,781 ft), and Glacier Peak (10,541 ft), with the sixth peak, Bonanza Peak, falling to 9,511 ft. These five are therefore the only summits in Washington that exceed 10,000 feet. Second, this distinguishes the line from the obvious alternative of the five named Washington stratovolcanoes, which would substitute Mount St. Helens for Little Tahoma. St. Helens remains a Bulger peak but ranks far down the list and, since losing more than 1,000 feet of its summit in the 1980 eruption, stands at 8,363 ft, well short of the 10,000-foot threshold. Choosing the five highest peaks rather than the five named volcanoes yields a line defined by elevation and by a recognized list, and keeps every summit above 10,000 feet.

Each of the five peaks also holds FKTs of its own, whether as a summit, a circumnavigation, or in combination with neighbors, and each has drawn high-level mountain athletes for decades. WH5 is the most demanding volcano linkup in Washington, exceeding any of the individual peak efforts in scope and combining technical glacier travel on every summit with hundreds of miles of connective travel between them. Each summit demands roped glacier travel and crevasse-rescue competence. The route therefore demands the full combination of endurance, mountaineering, and off-trail navigation across some of the most heavily glaciated terrain in the contiguous United States.

The report!

Five volcanoes. One continuous, self-supported line. Roughly 460 miles of trail, road, blowdown, and glacier travel between them. The Washington High Five is a beautiful concept—perhaps slightly less beautiful when you’re standing under a pack stuffed with not just trail essentials, but climbing gear.

Day 1: Mt. Baker summit

We started at 5:03 a.m. on the Fourth of July. From there we moved quickly up through meadows bursting with heather and other alpine blooms to a crowded high camp, where we changed into climbing gear. The forecast for Mt. Baker (10,781 feet, and one of the most heavily glaciated peaks in the lower 48) was excellent, excepting the wind, which promised to be strong up high.

After a typical snowfield slog followed by a steep but straightforward bootpath plod, we tagged the summit with relief. One down. We signed the registry and left as fast as we reasonably could. The descent dropped us out into rolling green meadows, then eventually onto the Baker Lake Highway, mercifully quiet on a Fourth of July evening, and across the Skagit River as the day wound down.

5:03 a.m. on the Fourth of July at the Park Butte trailhead — tired, mildly happy, and finally underway.

Threading the flowered high meadows toward camp, red-framed pack against a pale morning sky.

Slogging the “commercial highway” up Baker in full wind armor — hood, buff, and mirrored glasses against the blast.

Cheerful despite the wind and the crowds — the first summit was pure relief.

Dropping off the volcano into rolling green meadows and pointed ridgelines on the long way down.

Day 2: The road slog to Darrington

Day two was the part the Instagram algorithm never shows you: miles of pavement. We caught one last truly gorgeous view of Mt. Baker over the road, paused for a well-deserved breakfast and tooth-brushing on the cobbles of the Skagit River, and carried on next to heavy Fourth of July traffic.

Snacks at Two Rivers Casino and in Darrington gave us brief boosts and helped us push past 40 miles and closer to the North Fork Sauk trailhead. Another little upper: a yearling bear so delighted by the lush roadside vegetation it barely noticed us trudge past.

A quiet, foggy dawn over the Baker Lake country as the highway walk began. One of the last gorgeous views of Mt. Baker, catching the road walk toward Darrington.

Breakfast and a tooth-brushing break on the sunlit cobbles of the Skagit River.

A roadside bear — warned about by a passing family, but far keener on supper than on us.

Day 3: To the Glacier Peak high camp

We reached the North Fork Sauk trailhead in the early morning and began the long haul toward Glacier Peak (10,541 feet). The approach to the peak was tough, long, and steep, but the cathedral-like old-growth forest—and the views from the PCT at the end of the climb—were fabulous. We stopped a little earlier than usual at high camp, pitched the tent, and appreciated the open ridgelines, snowcapped peaks, and playful hoary marmots.

Ducking beneath the Glacier Peak Wilderness sign in deep, green, old-growth forest.

Relief at last — reaching the PCT across an open, sun-warmed hillside.

Walking a ribbon of trail through alpine heather toward jagged, snow-streaked summits.

Hello, marmot — utterly unbothered by our grand undertaking.

Crossing a snowfield under Glacier Peak with a full climbing kit — heavy packs, 460 miles.

High camp beneath Glacier Peak, the shelter tucked into a rock windbreak.

Day 4: Glacier Peak summit

We rose well before sunrise for the summit push, which turned out to be one of the most enjoyable summits of the entire trip: a quiet, spiraling climb on smooth, easy-angled snow, mountains stacking up in every direction.

We tagged the summit just after sunrise. We could see Mt. Baker, the peak we’d stood on three days earlier, glowing across the horizon, and it was a thrill to look back and measure the ground we’d covered on foot. We descended with little trouble, moved well over the several passes back to the PCT, then continued south with relief to have reached the longest trail segment of our trip . . . marred only slightly by some significant blowdown.

Pre-dawn summit prep by headlamp — balancing the eternal need for sleep against the miles ahead.

The quiet, spiraling ascent of Glacier Peak, one of the trip’s most enjoyable climbs.

An “acceptable” sunrise — Christof’s words — igniting the ridgelines below.

Smooth, easy snow climbing up Glacier Peak in the first warm light.

The perfect pyramid shadow of Glacier Peak cast across the ranges at dawn.

Working up the final steep snow toward the summit ridge.

Peak two in the bag — Glacier Peak summit at 6:17:10 on July 7th.

Looking back at Mt. Baker from the summit of Glacier Peak — the ground we’d already walked.

A brilliant turquoise glacial tarn cupped in the snowfields on the descent.

Arms wide with relief at finally rejoining the PCT in the afternoon.

The PCT “highway” reputation, thoroughly tarnished by endless blowdown.

More climbing over, under, and around fallen timber — happy anyway.

Day 5: To Stevens Pass

We had a steady rhythm across to Stevens Pass, enjoying the light across the landscape, continued views of Glacier Peak (as it grew smaller), and chats with various hikers and trail work crews. We reached the ski area just before the little café and store closed, which on this kind of trip counts as a major logistical victory. Leaving the pass, though, was the real relief. Despite the rocky surface, mosquitoes, endless series of punishing climbs, we felt better and better as we hiked deeper into the Alpine Lakes Wilderness.

Sunrise catching the peaks.

First light igniting a distant summit above the timber.

Leaving Stevens Pass in brutal heat with packs heavier than ever.

Golden hour on the trail as we crept back toward the high country.

Day 6: Through the Alpine Lakes Wilderness

The Alpine Lakes Wilderness is the land of innumerable passes: up and over, down, up and over. The views, at least, were amazing in the morning light.

As we approached Cathedral Pass, we encountered a warning note about a ford (impassable! take detour!). It was early and we were feeling brave, so we carried on toward the ford away. It was rushing but navigable, but for days after northbound PCT hikers asked us for intel.

A defaced PCT blaze — a disappointing reminder that “leave no trace” isn’t universal.

Morning light over yet another of the Alpine Lakes Wilderness’s countless passes.

The land of innumerable passes — up, over, and up again.

Carrying on past the warning sign, grinning anyway.

The infamous ford, subject of days of trailside intel-swapping with NoBo hikers.

A well-earned swim — because no one ever regrets one.

A missing PCT bridge, crossed the old-fashioned way on logs and rocks.

Evening at the end of a long pass-hopping day.

Day 7: To Snoqualmie Pass

Dawn broke cool and layered over the peaks. We crossed the 230-mile mark—the halfway point—a milestone that felt both enormous and, glancing at the map, faintly terrifying.

The day delivered a full menu of terrain (climbs, burn scars, waterfall refreshers, basins) and the packs remained, as always, SO HEAVY. Late in the day we hit the Kendall Katwalk, that famous Instagram hotspot blasted into a cliff face. We will report, honestly, that it was not a highlight; when you’ve stood atop two volcanoes, a short ledge has stiff competition.

Cool, layered dawn light stacking the ridgelines toward Snoqualmie.

Morning glow spilling across the peaks on the way to the halfway mark.

First sun catching the high country on day seven.

The 230-mile mark — the halfway point, equal parts triumph and dread.

More terrain, more forest, more miles under heavy loads.

Trail unspooling through the green midday hills.

SO HEAVY — a freshly reloaded pack and a resigned expression.

Grinding up the trail with the day’s full weight.

The famous Kendall Katwalk — decidedly not a highlight of the trip.

Day 8: More endless forest miles

We left Snoqualmie Pass well before sunrise and trudged up the ski hill in the dark. The day that followed was rather nondescript: up and over and around countless forested buttes with few views. Still, we appreciated the trail’s gradually improving surface and moved quite well thanks to fewer rocks, roots, and other obstacles.

Endless forested buttes, no views, and a low-water scare that thankfully proved false.

A quiet dinner break in the shade after a long, viewless day.

Day 9: To Chinook Pass

We woke to drizzle, fog, and wind: the unholy trinity. Pulling on rain gear, we stumbled through the early hours as quickly as possible, trying to stay warm. Eventually the drizzle stopped and the sun emerged. We spent some time on the steps of the Mike Urich cabin, drying our gear, warming up, and resetting our outlooks.

Afterward, we pushed on into clearing skies. Some buttery trail and some burns scars later, we caught our first glimpses of Mt. Rainier and Little Tahoma: our next two objectives.

Waking to drizzle, fog, and wind — soaked and cold within minutes despite the rain gear.

The rainy-morning temperature crisis, in full miserable bloom.

Foggy forest trail on the cold march toward shelter.

The Mike Urich cabin — a blessed spot to dry off and reset.

Skies clearing at last as we climbed back into open country.

Emerging into high meadows with the world drying out around us.

Hello, Rainier and Little T — our next two objectives finally in view.

Mountain goats, as indifferent to our quest as everything else.

Day 10: Little T(ahoma) summit

At the White River Wilderness Information Center we easily secured our permits for Little Tahoma and Rainier. Little Tahoma (11,138 feet) is a Bulger List peak and one of Washington’s most striking summits: a jagged rock fang jutting off Rainier’s eastern flank, easy to mistake for a mountain in its own right until the giant behind it steals the frame.

We worked our way up through the high, wildflower-strewn slopes, steep snowfields, and scrambled the last airy steps to the top. We tagged summit number three in the evening light and took a minute to appreciate the fun scramble, striking views, and first summit we’d had to ourselves. We descended happily and set up camp at Whitman Notch.

Permits in hand for Little T and Rainier — no problems at all at the White River center.

Climbing with Little Tahoma’s fang above.

Megan scrambling the final airy stretch to the summit.

Little T summit at 18:39:33 — this time with views and the top all to ourselves.

Standing atop the rock fang with the ranges stacked to the horizon.

Evening light flooding the ridgelines on the descent. Hello Mt. Adams!

Our improvised campsite.

Excellent dinner views.

Day 11: To Paradise

Overnight severe winds forced us to take down our tent sleep in the open. After several hours of sandblasting, we had a nerve-racking descent across the Whitman Glacier and down to the Wonderland Trail. But after a nap and some gorgeous views of Tahoma herself, we rallied and arrived at Paradise before sunset.

Tent struck in severe winds — we ended up sleeping out in the open.

The morning after the sandblasting night and a nerve-wracking Little T descent.

Majestic Mt. Rainier with Little Tahoma on its shoulder — yesterday’s peak and today’s giant.

Day 12: Rainier summit

Mt. Rainier: 14,411 feet, the roof of Washington and the most prominent peak in the contiguous United States, the crown jewel of the Bulger List. This was the big one.

We climbed up through the glacier in the pre-dawn blue and made it through Camp Muir, where a fellow climber greeted us with the reassuring question, “Are you worried about the low pressure system?” Higher up, another asked, “Do you always climb Rainier midday?” We do not, generally. But this was not a generally kind of trip.

Past Cathedral Gap and the cleaver we hit gorgeous fields of sastrugi, those incomparable wind-sculpted snow waves. We moved steadily up, taking breaks and appreciating the views of Little T here and there. Finally we reached the summit crater, stumbled across, and at just past 1 p.m. we signed the summit register amid crazy winds and accumulating storm clouds.

We did not spend time celebrating the most significant summit; we headed straight down, racing against an incoming system. Shortly after leaving the crater, the summit was enshrouded by clouds. Thankful to be descending, we moved with purpose across the massive switchback, down the cleaver, and back to Camp Muir. We heard thunder and felt a few drops as we descended back to Paradise. Despite significant fatigue, we were propelled by our nearly perfect timing.

Climbing in pre-dawn blue toward Camp Muir.

First light on the upper glacier, the roof of Washington ahead.

Through Camp Muir — “Are you worried about the low pressure system?”

“Do you have socials?” — asked with Little T poking through the clouds far below.

Crossing fields of wind-sculpted sastrugi past the cleaver — crampons and rope stowed for the hour-saving crossing.

The final glaciated approach to Washington’s highest point.

Summit of Mt. Rainier at 13:26:14 — windy as old hooky, peak four complete.

Racing the storm down the glacier, Little T in view once more.

Off the mountain having left a little blood — and a few worried onlookers — on the summit.

Day 13: To White Pass

After the intensity of Rainier, day thirteen was a gift: cool fog and gentle terrain made for a good, long, restorative walk to White Pass. The mountains softened, the miles ticked by, and we rolled through a lupine wonderland. We camped near Leech Lake with some pride at having hiked 40+ miles after having just submitted Rainier.

Cool fog and gentle terrain — a good, long, forgiving day toward White Pass.

Soft mist rolling over the low ridgelines as the miles ticked by kindly.

A lupine wonderland carpeting the hillsides purple.

Day 14: Through Goat Rocks

Goat Rocks is much nicer when you’re rested. Still, we tried our best to soak in the dramatic views from The Knife’s Edge and the massive carpets of paintbrush flowers. We had a short moment of inspiration when we crossed paths with Aurélien Sanchez, mid-PCT-record attempt, and his pacer. After Goat Rocks we tried to move efficiently through the warm afternoon, having several interesting chats with section hikers along the way. We distracted ourselves by planning a finish strategy. A Saturday finish seemed feasible; how could we make it happen?

Entering the dramatic high country of Goat Rocks in the morning.

The knife-edge alpine terrain that makes this stretch legendary.

Goat Rocks — undeniably nicer when you’re actually rested.

Traversing the high ridgeline with the last volcano now within reach.

Day 15: Mt. Adams – finally!

The finish line was Mt. Adams: 12,281 feet, the second-highest peak in Washington and a proud Bulger List summit. We started the final push near midnight: tired of camping, tired of ziploc breakfasts, tired of pretty much everything. Despite the relatively tame PCT segment to the Killen Creek trail junction, we struggled with sleepiness, motivation, and temperature. Still, we reached the junction in a fairly reasonable time and began the climb with both anticipation and dread. It was our last climb (hooray!), but it was long and steep and we were pretty dead. Not surprisingly, Adams was our slowest ascent of the entire trip. Fourteen days of accumulated mileage and vert had taken a toll. We took many breaks, trying to harness the power of the views to push us upward.

After a really laborious crawl up the mountain’s north spine, we finally tagged our fifth and final summit. Five peaks. Five volcanoes. We had actually done it. We were cold and exhausted as we waited in a line to take our summit photo, but we barely noticed. Achieving the final summit was energizing and we obligingly took photos for a few groups before tearing down (in our trail runners) toward Cold Springs.

We saved about an hour glissading down from the false summit. Then we trudged down the rocky, hot, gravelly climber’s trail toward the trailhead. It was not a pleasant few hours, but we were thankful not to be spending the night at the lunch counter or worrying about where we’d find water next. We finally rolled into the Cold Springs trailhead after 14 days, 13 hours, 39 minutes, and 37 seconds: self-supported, five summits, roughly 460 miles.

We celebrated at the Mt. Adams Pizza cart in Trout Lake, where the slices tasted like manna. Ursina then drove us home to the land of beds and refrigerators.

Starting the final push in the dark — tired of camping and hoping not to step on any frogs.

Pre-dawn on the last mountain, running on fourteen days of accumulated fatigue.

Crawling to the summit of Adams — the slowest ascent of the whole trip.

The summit in sight, and still a full hour to go.

Hello, Mt. Rainier — the giant we’d stood on days earlier, seen from Mt. Adams.

Five peaks complete — the summit photo, taken after waiting in a line of cramponed climbers.

A clever strategy for descending wet snow in trail runners.

An hour saved by an only slightly painful glissade off Adams.

Rolling into the Cold Springs trailhead after 14 days, 13 hours, 39 minutes, and 37 seconds.

Christof’s culinary highlights

Fireball: for the good AND bad moments.

Mayo Landjaeger

Mayo-tuna crackers

Oreo noodles

HELL yes!

Mayo cracker

Mayo Oreo.

Christof other highlights

Fresh hair harvested from a mountain goat’s ass.

Leave no leaf unused.

Team HairNoHair

No need to say more.

Team HairNoHair.

Permits

We obtained permits for summiting Little Tahoma, Mt. Rainier, and Mt. Adams, as well as for backcountry camping where required.

Some boring data