Big Snagtooth had been sitting on my radar for years—one of those peaks that quietly taunts you every time you scroll past the Bulger List. It’s not the tallest, nor the longest approach, but it has a reputation: rugged terrain, a chaotic scree field, and a massive summit boulder that feels totally over-the-top for a mountain of this size.

With my return to New Zealand looming, I knew it was now or never. The night before my climb, heavy rain hammered the area. Not exactly ideal conditions for an off-trail approach, but I’ve come too far to turn back because of a little mud.

The first stretch of forest near Willow Creek felt like walking through a wringing-wet sponge. Everything dripped. Every branch slapped water onto my jacket. To avoid getting fully saturated before the real climb even began, I angled uphill, away from the creek and into more open terrain where the forest finally started thinning out.

Once I broke out of the trees, everything changed. The entire Willow Creek valley opened up beneath me—broad, visible, and straightforward to navigate. After the claustrophobic forest, it felt like a welcome reset.

Travel through the valley was surprisingly simple once I was out of the dense brush. The open views help you stay oriented, and all the terrain naturally funnels toward the upper basin. At the head of the valley, I spotted a dried-up waterfall and creek bed that looked like a natural ramp. It turned out to be the perfect line upward toward Snagtooth Ridge.

The only problem? Everything was slick. The previous night’s rain left the slabs, boulders, and dirt coated in moisture. At one point I slipped, smashed my knee into a rock, and had that brief flash of panic where you think, Is this the end of the day? Luckily, it wasn’t serious. I shook it off and kept climbing toward the basin.

Reaching the basin felt like stepping into a hidden amphitheater of rock. From here, the goal is obvious: a steep scree field leading straight to Snagtooth Ridge. Unfortunately, this scree is next-level terrible.

Tiny pebbles sitting on sand.
Sand sitting on hardpan.
Everything sliding in every direction.

Every step felt like a negotiation. I'd place my foot, then watch the ground slide half a step backward. It was exhausting and unnerving, but it was the simplest way up—and eventually the ridge came into reach.

Once on the ridge, the navigation becomes refreshingly simple. It’s a straight, clean line toward the summit block. But the challenge shifts from footing to heat. The sun blasted the ridge, and there’s no water source anywhere above Willow Creek. The silver lining? At least it finally dried out my rain-soaked clothes.

Big Snagtooth’s summit block is what makes this climb infamous. To reach it, you first scale a 4–5 meter step that requires a few low-fifth-class moves. Some people protect this with a rope, and honestly, it’s not a bad idea—especially for the downclimb.

I opted to solo it, carefully moving through two or three exposed moves to reach the platform below the summit boulder.

The boulder itself requires one awkward, committing move to mantle on top. To make things easier, I dumped my backpack and anything else in the way, made the move quickly, tagged the summit, and retreated to safer ground to enjoy some snacks.

There’s something undeniably satisfying about sitting just below a summit boulder you’ve dreamt about for years, knowing you finally stood on top—even if only for a moment.

The way down was mercifully uneventful. Once past the nasty scree and slick slabs, the rest of the trip became a simple walk back toward the highway.

Another Bulger checked off. Another odd, rugged, memorable Washington summit tucked away in the logbook.

Honestly? Probably not for Big Snagtooth itself. But the area has another gem that I’d absolutely revisit first:
Silver Star Mountain — a far more enjoyable climb with some of the best scrambling lines in the North Cascades.

Big Snagtooth is one of those peaks that doesn’t let you forget it. The soaked forest, the slippery slabs, the knee-smashing slip, the frustrating scree, the heat, and finally that one ridiculous move onto the summit boulder—it all adds up to a climb that feels uniquely “Bulger.”

Not the worst. Not the best. But certainly one of the most character-filled.

If you’re chasing the list, it’s a must.
If you’re picking and choosing the fun peaks? You might head somewhere else.

Either way, it’s an adventure you’ll remember.