Bear Mountain in Wild Sky Wilderness rises west of the Beckler River near Frog Mountain. It is the second tallest of nine mountains in Washington State bearing the same name. While not as high as Bear Mountain in the North Cascades National Park, this mountain on the Skykomish River holds a larger prominence.
See more trip photos here.
To learn about Bear Mountain of the Chilliwack peaks, check out this post.
Bear Mountain in Wild Sky Wilderness at a Glance
Access: NF-65 (road bend 0.8 miles below Jack Pass)
Round Trip: 4 miles
Elevation Range: 2100′-5519′
Essential Gear: helmet, microspikes, 60m rope
Route Info: SummitPost.org
GPS Track: available
Dog-Friendly: no
Playlist: Beats
The Little Mountain That Could
After checking the weather forecast the past week, I postponed the trip to today that promised clear skies. The difficulty of a climb is not always directly proportional to the height of a mountain. In this case, steep contours on the map accurately reflected the challenging ascent. Despite its modest height, Bear Mountain receives significantly less attention than its taller neighbors, such as Spire Mountain.
I took my first photo of the peak from Troublesome Mountain across the valley, but didn’t take notice until two years later. Then recently, I glimpsed the tip poking out from behind a ridgeline from Mount Fernow. However, the popular Frog Mountain Trail across Beckler River offers a direct, daunting view of the sheer route. It felt good to finally be on the path to the summit, a place previously only seen from nearby peaks.
The Approach Through the Woods
The day began on a hidden old road near a bend on the way to Jack Pass via the Index-Galena Road. The downed tree-strewn path quickly faded before reaching a short stretch of vine maples. Some scrambling back in the trees soon led me to a roadway headed to San Juan Creek. As I speculated where the road had originated, I followed it to the switchback before turning off and hugging the edge of the hillside.
The cool, overcast morning weather was a welcome relief before the usual nonstop sweat. So far, mosquitoes were still dormant, while the bird’s constant chirping pleasantly remained in the background. After dropping off the embankment, I crossed the creek over large rocks before the confluence with the dry bed off the mountain. A brief uphill scramble through the woods soon led me into the broad gully below an ice cave.
Traversing the Forested Rib
After a 200-foot upward traverse, I returned to the trees south of the snow at 2600 feet after a small area of vine maples. The terrain steepened very quickly. And as the incline increased, I put on microspikes for traction on the slippery, duff-covered slopes to keep from sliding with every move. Otherwise, it would quickly turn into a frustrating and energy-sucking “one step forward, two steps back” climb.
The lower forest floor was cluttered with typical tree debris, but fewer logs made for a relatively smooth climb. By staying within earshot of the ravine at the edge of the rib, route-finding was straightforward. Soon, a buttress at 3200 feet forced a bypass from the south. Another one appeared 200 feet higher, which I climbed over using narrow ramps. One or two outcrops beyond that required a bypass from the north.
Navigating Gendarmes and Gullies
The viewpoint at 3850 feet offered my first clear view of the route ahead. Meanwhile, the expansive Skykomish River Valley unfolded behind me. Instead of dropping into the south gully, I hugged the crest, which brought me through some outcrops to the gendarmes. From the flat, slanting slabs comprising the arête, a tree at the top led me down a ramp by the crux. Shortly, I entered the top of the north gully.
Attempting to climb over the gendarmes would have made dropping onto the notch at 4050 feet incredibly difficult. From below, I climbed eighty feet out of the gully by hugging a steep, soft dirt chimney using vegetation and small handholds. Meanwhile, I avoided the slabs due to the lack of features. From the notch, I crossed to the south of a series of imposing boulders not suited for traversing. The route stayed south until I could regain the crest at about 4300 feet.
Final Push on Bear Mountain in Wild Sky Wilderness
The slopes steepened again after a brief stroll on milder ground before putting the microspikes back on. The final stretch toward the headwall at 5000 feet was straightforward as a receding snowfield sat just north of the crest. Mmm, snowmelt. After reaching the visible notch, I briefly descended, crossing the broad gully to a narrow chimney with some snow. The trickling stream was my first water since San Juan Creek. At last, the last 500 feet of steep climbing began.
I ascended rock ledges that dipped just enough to make facing in climbing awkward. Then, I left the steps below the north summit, aiming for the heather to lessen the exposure. From there, it was krummholz and tree branches that aided the climb. During this, I passed an old anchor with weathered webbing, which would be my first place suitable to rappel. The steep incline persisted until the summit, as I finished the final bit via the east.
Summit Views and a Careful Descent
After a few moments to calm my nerves, I took time to plan my descent before lunch. The mountain offered spectacular views of the river valley and the rugged Wild Sky and Henry M. Jackson wildernesses. From this height, neighboring giants like Kyes Peak and Columbia Peak were all visible. However, the cherry on top was seeing three volcanoes—Mount Rainier, Baker, and Glacier Peak. Since Mount Fernow sat nearly 700 feet higher, I could see more of it from here.
A better place to downclimb was several yards toward the north summit, which led back to my up route. With no rope wasted, I rappelled three full lengths to the awkward rock ledges by the narrow chimney. Down at the gendarmes, it took another rappel into the north gully before retracing steps back to the viewpoint. Later in the lower forest, I picked up two fairly new balloons. Once again, I lost one microspike sometime after crossing back over the creek.
Curious about the roadway I stumbled on in the morning, I followed it to see where it would lead. The path was brushy with many downed logs, but in turn, it steered clear of the vine maples uphill. As the road slowly dipped, it was my cue to scramble straight up to the car 150 feet above. In theory, one could begin from the entrance slightly downhill from where I parked without having to go cross-country until right before San Juan Creek.
