It all started May 2014. I had been working in Kelowna for a month with a friend from Squamish, and we were on our way back to Vancouver. As we passed through Chilliwack, he told me of his and another friend's adventure on Slesse the previous year. He took the steering wheel as we drove along the highway so I could ogle southwards at the North Cascades. I didn't know much about Slesse, or the alpine in general, and it seemed serious and scary and committing. I had more interest in technical climbing on steep granite anyways.

Then it went to sh#t. I arrived home to the news that my wife had had an affair. I'm sure it may come as a surprise to some of you that I was married. Anyways, because I'm an idiot or love is blind or some sh#t like that, I stuck with her. However, the hurt was there, and the only thing I found that made it go away, if only temporarily, was climbing. I started doing more and more ropeless climbs in an effort to get out of my own head. There was something very liberating about moving consistently and perfectly and efficiently by myself.
As the summer progressed, I thought back to Slesse and how cool it would be to climb it. Maybe by myself? I wasn't sure. I bought the Alpine Select guide and went through it, mentally ticking off routes on different mountains that I thought might be attainable. I daydreamed a lot about the mountains, but wrote most of them off as not practical.

Fast forward to March of this year. I arrived home from one of my best days in Squamish yet, to find my wife with bags packed and announcing she was leaving. Apparently my not trusting her after her faux pas the previous year was an issue.
It hit pretty hard. I hardly left the house for almost two months, except to work here and there, and to climb. I climbed until my tips were bloody, taped them up, and continued.
I started to reassess my alpine pipe dreams, although it was too early in the year for any of them to be possible.
As the year went on, I became more and more okay with myself and where I was in life. I switched up my job, met a new girl, and enjoyed my freedom. I saw a picture of someone else's trip up Slesse and upon inquiring as to the state of the glacier, I was informed that it hadn't formed this year and I should get on it. I started making plans.
My friend who had climbed Slesse got wind of my scheme and questioned my level of experience when it came to making decisions in the mountains, which to be fair was minimal. "The mountains don't give a sh#t. Slesse is not the Chief" he warned.
I took this into consideration, but I was already prepped to be on the mountain the next day. I had a three liter camelbak, a number of energy bars, and some coconut water along with a couple other essentials. I felt pretty confident that I could be up and back down before dark. Light is fast, fast is safe, I told myself repeatedly.
I woke up at an acceptable alpine start time of 0230. Breakfast was made, my bag was packed, and I was on the road by 3. I sped most of the way until I reached the final logging road, where my car loudly protested my forcing it over the drainage points. I drove until I felt the car could no longer take it, parked, and left it at exactly 5. I continued on foot in the dark, headlamp ready but not necessary.
A pickup truck came from the direction I was headed, and we silently acknowledged each other. I reached the trailhead and followed it down and across the river.
The trail was in great shape, much better than I expected, and I was moving quickly. Despite expecting the hike to be lengthy, I reached the Slesse memorial site at 0700, 2 hours after leaving my car. I was pleased.
I paused here briefly to remove my shirt, as even this early, I could feel the temperature rising. I took a couple pictures and kept moving.
The wooded knoll came after a short steep hike. It looked like a rather pleasant spot to camp. The description I had printed in my pocket said to stay right along the trail to reach the bypass glacier (or where it would be) for the NE Buttress, but I missed the turnoff and ended up at the propellor cairn.
No worries; there's a contingency for that. I stopped for a breather and a snack before setting out along the bedrock to a notch where one can pass through to get to the bypass glacier.
After climbing up and over, I detoured downhill slightly to take care of some business. As I was putting my pack back on, rockfall echoed from the other side of my planned route. For the first time, I was acutely aware of the remoteness and seriousness of my position.
I reminded myself that I wasn't in Kansas anymore and cinched my helmet down tighter. I moved quickly up towards the ramp that bypasses the dirty lower pitches, hoping to avoid any missiles the mountain might send my way.
I checked the time as I started scrambling third class terrain - 8. It had only taken me 3 hours to get to the base from my car. I had not been expecting to move as fast as I did. I was stoked on having plenty of daylight to climb and make the descent, which was the part I had given the most thought to.

As I climbed upwards, tattered slings around trees signalled that I was on the right path. There were many variations, and I chose the ones that appeared to offer the least resistance. I'd never climbed something of the choose your own adventure nature such as this, and I was having a blast.
A couple pitches up, the rock kicked back to vertical for a short bit, and I changed into rock shoes. I chose my line based on faint chalk marks from someone's previous ascent, and balanced up a slabby ramp, mantelled onto a ledge, then stemmed up a short, slightly overhanging corner. Above this, I was back on easy fifth class terrain, so I switched back into approach shoes.
I continued onwards, again with slings guiding my way. A headwall a few pitches above loomed intimidatingly. I started up some broken cracks, but slabby feet gave me pause and I climbed back to a ledge to put climbing shoes on again.
I had been drinking periodically from my hydration pack, and when I took it off to change shoes, I failed to switch the mouthpiece to the off position. As I went to put my pack back on, I noticed a slight puddle underneath it. I shrugged, figuring I couldn't have lost that much water, and kept climbing.
Directly underneath the headwall, I did some more stemming to reach a mess of tat anchors. The climbing above looked steep and vague. I consulted my route description and determined that I was en route for the .10a direct variation. Onsight soloing .10a would normally not give me too much hesitation back in Squamish, but the lack of cell service and the possibility of choss rock in addition to my not planning for this direct route made me stop and scan for the correct way.

Ah! There, down and climbers right, about a ropes length below, was some more tat. I downclimbed the stemming bit I had just done, but downsoloing the slabby terrain I had come up seemed sketchy and would take me further from my objective. I opted to traverse into a shallow, slightly grassy corner and slowly climbed down. This is quite the adventure I told myself.
A short bit of downclimbing later I was able to traverse further right to be back on route. Now I was back on fourth to easy fifth class terrain, so I continued with the choose your own line way. About a pitch above the anchor I had downclimbed to, I went to take a slurp of water, and received air and suction. I hesitated, figuring it was just a hose problem and it would work itself out, so I climbed another fifty feet or so, but I didn't like the thought that I may just be out of water, so I took a moment to take my pack back off and check.

Sure enough, it was completely empty. I felt a brief wave of panic. I was just about halfway up a 3000 foot mountain, and had nothing for liquid except maybe half a liter of coconut water. I knew that there was supposed to be snow a couple pitches higher, near the bivi ledges, but based on the lack of glacier below, I didn't want to rely on something that may or may not be there. I momentarily considered continuing upwards, but the summit looked impossibly, insanely far away. Sh#t, I said out loud. What the actual f*#k do I do? It was just after 0930.
Obviously, up was out of the question. It would have been easier, and probably quicker to reach the summit, but I'm not gonna find a Starbucks up there. At least if I went down, I could refill from the small amount of glacial runoff there was. I resigned myself and started downclimbing, again. Below the tat I had originally climbed down to, I saw a potentially easier way to traverse back to the crest I had climbed up, so I followed that, with some slabby feet and loose rock for handholds taking me in the direction I wanted to go.
I felt a wave of relief as I reached easier terrain and changed back to approach shoes for what seemed like the hundredth time. I made it back to the overhanging corner for which I had first put on climbing shoes, changed into them once again, and downstemmed, downmantelled, and downbalanced. From here I knew there was only one more slightly difficult bit before I reached the ramp that would take me to the base. I traversed far climbers left in an effort to find an easier way down than the one I had come up, but the way I went probably ended up being more difficult.
I put my approach shoes back on for the last time, and made my way down the ramp. Upon reaching the base, I found a runoff stream that was flowing quicker than others, and refilled my hydration pack.
I was aware that there was supposed to be a direct line to the buttress from the Slesse Memorial, and skipping the propellor cairn and wooded knoll part of the descent seemed welcoming, so I made my way down the bedrock in the direction of the memorial. I consulted a picture on my phone I had taken from earlier in an effort to find the least steep way, but shadows in my shot prevented it from being much help. I ended up at the edge of a steep gully, with no obvious way down. Discouraged, I started walking back towards the propellor cairn. More rockfall reminded me that I was still in a dangerous position, and I quickened my pace.
Once I reached the wooded knoll, I allowed myself to remove my helmet and continued down to the memorial. My feet were sore, and I had the feeling that I had just gotten away with some serious sh#t. My pace downhill was considerably quicker than it had been upwards. I plugged in some headphones and before I knew it I was back at the logging road.
On my way back to my car, I met an older couple who were just about to hike Rexford. I explained to them my misadventure, and they offered me some water, which I politely declined as my pack still had some. I continued on and passed another couple out walking their dog. These were the only other people I saw the entire day.
I was back at my car before 1, left, and was home shortly after 3. The temperature around sea level made me miss the cool breeze of the alpine. If all had gone the way I planned, I would have topped out before noon and had plenty of daylight for the descent. Unfortunately, sometimes plans don't work out, and I'm happy that I not only had the presence of mind to make a hard decision, but the mental strength to climb back down.
I learned a lot, even without making the summit, and I'm already thinking about my next attempt. Whether it will be this year or next, I don't know, but I'm sure it will be epic in a good way.

 Once I regained cell service, I called my parents to let them know I was alive. My mum asked if I had had a good hike. Probably good for her sake that she didn't quite understand what I was doing.