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| Summit ridge looking Northeast |
After discovering the weekend's forecast, I extended my lunch break to research the NOAA mountain forecast, which predicted clear skies, low winds, modest temperatures, and sun! I also checked the avalanche report which looked progressively promising over the coming days. Immediately I message the three guys I know who would consider climbing with me for Saturday. After a short time they all responded with interest, but each had some prearrangement that they couldn't stray from. One mentioned that he would climb with me Sunday, however I knew that climbing the day before the work week was probably not in my best interest. I was bummed. For a moment, I thought I'd have to pass up a golden opportunity, a break in the weather, where all the right conditions were coming together.
Thursday 2/2/12
After desperately waiting 5hrs for my lunch break, I checked the mountain forecast once more, and not to my surprise, things looked spectacular for Saturday. I made a desperate attempt to persuade the other three to reconsider the climb, however nobody changed their minds. Again, I was bummed. However, the night before I had read a section of Into The Wild by Jon Krakauer. In it, Krakauer describes a time in his early 20s when he hitched to Alaska and spent over 20 days in the mountain wilderness with one goal in mind, to summit a peak called Devil's Thumb. Reading that passage had excited me, and the only way I could get even just a sliver of what Krakauer experienced, at a time of my life where 'weekend warrior' has become my unsavory and unofficial title, I made the decision to climb Mt. Hood solo. After all, Mt. Hood is the most climbed mountain in North America, so how hard could it be? I chose to glance over the fact that Mt. Hood is one of the most deadly mountains in the US, and that I've only attempted to climb this mountain once before, not reaching the summit.
Friday 2/3/12
Throughout the workday, I couldn't get the thought of climbing out of my mind. I wasn't able to grasp the fact that I was actually going through with the idea of climbing solo. I figured something would pop up and prevent me from actually committing to the trip. I knew it was a 'stupid' idea. I hadn't taken any Avalanche Awareness courses, rope training, or any formal mountaineering training in general. I had only the years of hiking trails around Oregon and climbing very few non-technical peaks to my advantage. Many climbing organizations such as Mazamas would have not approved my decision, and recommend to climb with an experienced partner. But I also knew that it could be done with the little experience I had, and that Saturday provided the best opportunity to do so. I analyzed the risks, and setting fear aside, I drove to the Mountain Shop (after work) and rented a set of crampons, an ice axe, plastic boots, and a helmet. I knew that after having rented gear, there was little chance to back out. Little did I know that the day after my climb, a friend whom I had met on the Summit of Middle Sister in August would climb Mt. Hood, but fall 200 feet while descending from the same route I had taken (severely bruising her ribs and leg and enduring an all day rescue). And the day after, another climber would perish from a fall while descending from the route I had taken back towards Timberline Lodge. Deaths on Mt. Hood are not uncommon and if I would have known before hand what tragedy the weekend would bring, I may have reconsidered climbing solo, or climbing at all.
I got home around 7:30pm, cooked a mean pasta and chicken dinner, and started packing up while calling Chris Baker to let him know my itinerary. I had a rough estimate of what to bring based of my last summit attempt. On top of the rentals, I would bring my climbing pack and in it, food (5 energy bars + a sandwich), a headlamp, map, whistle, water bladder, and trekking poles. I also stuffed some extra gloves, goggles, sunglasses, a down jacket, fleece, rain pants, and my camera in the bag. I left my pants and long underwear next to my bed to jump into after the alarm woke me up. At 10:30pm I set an alarm for 01:45.
Saturday 2/4/12
I suddenly woke up 15 minutes before my 1:45 alarm. I figured that if left for the mountain around 2am, I could potentially be near the summit by sunrise and enjoy the beauty of a nice morning view plus the leeway of descending before temperatures reached their high. However, waking up to such a cold and dark room, so early in the morning, gave me all the reason to sleep in. All the voices in my head were telling me to stay warm and comfortable and safe in my bed. I considered it as well laying in bed for 15 extra minutes, but thankfully the will to climb was stronger. It took me 5 minutes to jump into my clothes, 5 minutes to wash my face and gather my things, and 5 more minutes until I was rolling out of the driveway. With my gear in the passenger seat and an espresso drink in hand, I headed towards Mt. Hood in through the empty, dark, and silent Highway 26. During the drive I listened to an old mix I made in '05 consisting of Broken Social Scene, the Killers, the Postal Service, and others. Before I knew it i was approaching Silent Rock (having turned my music off ;) and finally turning left towards Timberline Lodge. Arriving around 3:30am, I snagged an excellent parking space and walked towards the climbing registry. Because the sunny weekend presented a promising climbing opportunity, I had expected other climbers to be joining me. The climbing registry was full, a group of 5 was gearing up next to me, and as I walked back to the car to deposit my shoes, I saw two or three little specs of light halfway up the mountain resembling climbers already on their way up. After finding an approach out of the parking lot I too became a tiny spec of light, and with my headlamp guiding the way, trekked towards the cat track that would lead me towards Palmer Glacier.
Hiking in the dark, up a gradual slope and in plastic boots can make one very impatient. The constant looking down in front of your feet, looking at the circular light patch hitting the snow in front of you, and then realizing you're wandering off track (after following another's footsteps) will drive you crazy. Looking up, I remember seeing the stars, and thank God the moon was shining otherwise I wouldn't have been able to see the outline of the mountain and judge how much farther it was until I reached the top of Palmer Glacier. But looking up slowed me down, and looking left at each passing ski lift column (I was hiking in parallel to the Palmer ski lift) played tricks with my mind. Each passing beam I thought was going to be the last. It was only after 1.5hrs did I reach the top of Palmer Chair, and at 5:30am, the cold, wind, and dark were still present. I had passed one pair of climbers along the way and was soon approaching another who had just set off above the lift. I tried recording a video on my phone but was unable to capture any visuals. I was fatigued, and even though I had climbed 2580 vertical feet from Timberline lodge to the top of Palmer chair (8540ft), I knew I had almost 3000 more feet to go.
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| Below Crater Rock looking Southeast at about 9500ft |
After a quick snack, layer adjustment, and rest, I put on my crampons and whopped out my ice axe. No longer would I be trekking on groomed cat track, but I had begun to ascend the 'untamed' section of mountain above the ski lift and towards the summit. I used an axe/pole combo, holding my ice axe in my right hand, and a trekking pole in my left (this seems to work well and I like having two supports for balance and to take weight off my back when pushing uphill). There was no visible trail nor foot prints to follow, only an occasional crampon-mark spot facing every direction on the icy, crusty, or windblown surfaces. However, having climbed and studied this route before, I was confident in traveling the right direction. I was getting more excited as I was closing in on the climbers ahead of me. I was in a good rhythm and blasted a few "ow oww!"wolf calls.
On the way up towards Crater Rock my inner thermometer forced me to layer up, then layer down. After adjusting to the below-freezing wind chill, the sun started to creep above the horizon. At first it looked like Armageddon, but after time, the south-eastern slopes were cast with a striking pink shade of morning light. A few minutes later, the clouds below were lit up like cotton candy. To my left I saw the large triangular shadow that the mountain had cast. At the foot of Crater Rock I had finally caught up with a group of three and captured their picture (a few days after I had exchanged photos via email with one of the guys named Bala). They were hiking at a slightly slower pace than I, and in the distance, I saw a larger group of about 6 climber huddling together on Hog's Back. They were preparing for the final ascent, and I wanted to catch up with them to watch their approach and perhaps follow their route up.
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| I snapped this picture of a climber whom I had passed below Crater Rock (Illumination Rock in the background) |
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| A climber in Bala's group had taken this picture of me shortly after passing them |
After stomping past Devil's Kitchen (as described before, Devil's Kitchen is an area filled with gassy fumaroles that you don't want to inhale for very long), I marched through a steeper section towards the Hog's Back's spiny ridge. The approach was deep wind blown powder, perfect for an avalanche, but it was early and I was pretty sure that if I followed the group above's tracks I could stay out of trouble. Once I reached the Hog's Back, I took a rest and took in the view. Here, one is able to see the many couloirs (steep chutes) that lead to the summit, as well as the snowed-in Bergschrund crevasse that intercepts the top of Hog's Back. The large group ahead of me was already traversing right of the Bergschrund over a steep face, towards the Pearly Gates (one of the main approaches taking you to the Summit). I followed to see if I could talk to the group and ask them questions about their approach. However, when I came near, it seemed as if they wanted nothing to do with me, and solely fixed on their leader. They looked well trained as if they belonged to the Mazamas. They were using dual ice axes attached to their harnesses to traverse over and up. I had only one ice axe, tied loosely to my arm. They obviously didn't want to take in nor converse with a newbie (and I don't blame them). One person dropped a glove and I watched it slide hundreds of feet below. Each word one of them said was a loud command. They were in the zone, therefore I decided to traverse back to the Hog's Back and rethink my approach.
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| Sunrise shadow of Mt. Hood looking West |
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| Sunrise, looking South towards Mr. Jefferson, 3 Sisters, etc. |
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| Sunrise, looking down over White River Canyon |
Sitting near the snowed in Bergschrund (probably above it, now that I think about it) I watched as another solo climber (whom had passed the group of three) was steadily making is way to the Hog's Back. I waited for him to approach me. He was using the same ice axe/trekking pole technique that I was using. He looked like he was in his early 30s. The climber's name was Eric, from Seattle, and being an avalanche instructor and experienced Northwest Mountaineer, I was sure happy to have run into him. Best of all, Eric was friendly and willing to complete the remaining ascent with me. We started talking about our options. The 'Mazamas' group (as Eric chuckled) was taking their sweet time, and if we wanted to ascend through the Pearly Gates (which I wasn't too fond of), it would have been quite the wait before we could get a start. To our left was the 'Old Chute' approach, a couloir that starts out wide and get's skinny leading up to the west end of the mountain's crater rim.
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| Hog's Back (center). The climber up above is sitting below the snowed in Bergschrund. Old Chute to the left. |
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| On Hog's Back looking down. You can see Eric approaching after passing Bala's group. |
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| One of many fumaroles letting out nasty smelling gas. |
The route looked simple enough, but it too had it's dangers. First, the route was full of wind blown snow that made Eric cautious for avalanche danger. Also, the sun was covering more ground, softening up the snow and potentially releasing ice chunks down the couloir face (at that time, you could already see a steady stream of small ice pieces bouncing down the slope, some hitting me, some I managed to dodge. If they were any larger, it would have been difficult to continue up). We figured that if we hurried up the shaded side of the Old Chute while spotting each other, we'd have a good chance of making it up safely. Eric estimated about 20-40 minutes before the snow got too soft to ascend safely. Because I didn't carry an an avalanche beacon or a snow shovel, Eric suggested that I go first so he could spot me, and to wait for him one I reached a shaded section, safe from ice fall, in the middle of Old Chute where I could spot him. I thought "oh shit Justin, it's time to shine, don't fuck up in front of this guy, you have already exposed your ignorance for asking so many dam questions". And then I was off. I hopped off the Hog's Back onto a steep sunny slope traversing left towards the bottom of Old Chute, passing below large sections of iced covered volcanic rock.
The traverse was intense. I looked back towards Eric as he shouted little motivating lines, trying to get me to speed up. When I reached the foot of Old Chute, I looked up towards the crater rim to see what I had left to climb. Exhausted and fatigued from the traverse, I saw that there was a couple hundred feet of the steepest, highest, and most sketchy section of mountain left to climb. The little ice chunks were more frequent, therefore I started climbing again once I saw Eric in view. The steepness and depth below was both scary and exhilarating. I rarely looked back to concentrate on what was ahead of me. By this point, I had strapped both my 2nd trekking pole to my backpack and was using two hands to thrust my ice axe into the slope ahead of me. After getting a good hold, I would pull myself up, advancing one foot and then the other towards the axe. I repeated this motion for over 100 vertical feet and about 50-60 feet below the mountain's crater rim the ground became even more steep and icy. I could no longer jam my axe far enough into the ground for a good hold, therefore I grabbed the shaft of the axe with my right hand and used the pick (with a hammering effect) to snag holds. Again, I'd struck the ice until I could get a secure hold, and then advanced my feet forward. Looking back was a little nerve racking, and I saw Eric below me making his way up. Looking up I saw two climbers sitting on the crater's rim. They had already summitted and were waiting for me and Eric to hit the top before they could descend.
After a good 30-45 minutes after leaving Hog's Back, I was sitting on the volcano's rim, which was just a hop and a skip west of the summit. Eric and I looked over the rim's edge to see considerable exposure that spanned thousands of feet below. I was looking over the mountain's north face, which looked very difficult to climb, but then again it looked like something I'd be interested in trying some day. After catching our breaths, we walked along the crater's edge, passing highly exposed sections only 2 feet wide with sharp drops off to either side. I thought if I were to fall, I'd try to fall right so it would be 'easier' for others to rescue me. However, I didn't like thinking about falling and quickly blocked the thought out of my mind as I approached the living-room-sized summit.
After a careful 5 minute trek, I was standing on the summit of Mt. Hood. I had finally accomplished one of my childhood dreams which I originally thought would take a lot longer for me to even consider attempting. Summitting was an emotional experience for me for many reasons. I had raced up the mountain mostly solo. I met a kind person who was willing to accompany and look after me. I was the tallest man in Oregon. I spent a little while taking in the 360 degree view, taking photos of all directions and each other. Eric pointed out fresh pee where he was standing (probably from the two climbers that passed us on their way down). And, just after I had enough time to take a self portrait, Eric suggested that we head down the mountain before the warm slopes became too much of a danger. I agreed, said a silent goodbye the not-so-lonely summit, and started walking back along the crater rim towards the top of Old Chute.
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| Wy'east (Mt. Hood) Summit 11,249ft |
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| Looking East from the Summit |
Before descending, we waited for 'the group of 3' to climb up and out of Old Chute. I said my regards to Bala as they headed towards the summit. Right after them was another solo climber who looked extremely exhausted, young, and unprepared. He had the basic rental package that I was using and rocked a loose fit Jansport backpack with little contents inside. Eric warned him of the warming snow pack and avalanche danger this late in the morning. The climber responded "I know, I've been in warmer conditions like this before". I thought 'Common kid, look at yourself. Listen to a guy with credentials'. He asked me if he was near the summit and if the top of Old Chute 'looked similar' to the summit (I think he was finally realizing how high and exposed he was, not wanting to continue on). I told him the terrain was indeed similar, but wasn't the summit. I suggested that he follow Bala's group and stick with them until he reached safer ground, then I turned and followed Eric down the couloir. As I down-climbed facing in, I thought how awful it would be to slip and fall at that point, after having summitted the mountain. I took my time, reminding myself not to rush down and loose concentration on the slippery slopes.
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| Eric and I waiting to descend Old Chute on the summit ridge |
After about 20 minutes I made it to the base of Old Chute where I met Eric and discussed the route down. He suggested we make our way down along a snow blown ridge towards the fumaroles below, and then traverse east and up over the Hog's Back. Again, I lead and he watched me in case an avalanche had triggered. By the time we reached the Hog's Back, I was pretty confident that we could make it down safely, easily, and quickly. And, in reality we did. We rounded crater rock past Devil's Kitchen, and descended in the direction towards the Palmer Chair thousands of feet below. Earlier that morning Eric had stashed his split-board in the rocks around 9000ft. After helping him recover his board, I offered him thanks, we exchanged information, and I parted to finish the descent alone.
I was overjoyed to have almost completed such an amazing climb. Even though my body was extremely beat, I was in one piece, and had a smile across my face. Others however, weren't so fortunate. Before I parted from Eric, we passed a group of climbers (heading towards the summit... I was surprised to see a group heading up so late in the day, by this time it was almost 10am) who pointed to a climber below, surrounded by people, who had skied down from the summit, but lost an edge and toppled several hundred feet until stopping just above the Palmer Chair. He was knocked unconscious for at least 5 minutes, and it took a long time before people had reached him. Eric thought he might have suffered brain damage from impact and being knocked out for so long.
As I descended past the Palmer Chair lift, I saw the man, conscious, and getting assisted into a snow cat. I was thankful that he was okay. However, two days later, I had learned of another climbing accident that happened the day after my climb involving somebody I had met the September before. Her name was Megan, and I had met her on on the summit of Middle Sister the the day after my birthday. Megan was an amazing person and we talked all day about climbing, the climbing community, about life. That Sunday Megan had summitted Mt. Hood, but on her descent (from the same route I had taken) she slipped on a sheet of hard ice and fell over 200 feet below. Megan had badly bruised her ribs and leg, taking hours for rescuers to escort her off the mountain. I was shocked to hear the news, but glad to know that she was alive an well.
The very next day (Tuesday), somebody at work mentioned that a climber who had gone missing the previous day was found dead in the White River Canyon just above the 9000ft level. No one expected such a tragic accident to happen to such an experienced climber whom had summited Mt. Hood several times before. This guy had several years of mountaineering experience and after summiting, began to descend down a popular route similar to the route Erik and I had taken. Somehow however, he lost traction and fell several hundred feet, tumbling to his death. He left behind a wife and two young girls.
I was aghast regarding the number of climbing accidents that happened over the same weekend I decided to climb. I began questioning why I, who had very little climbing experience, hadn't experienced such a tragedy myself. Is it inevitable that something similar will happen someday to either me, or somebody close to me? This weekend definitely proved that accidents are common and that no matter how much one prepares, danger can not be eliminated. After having time to reflect on what the weekend had generated, joy and tragedy, I told myself that if I wanted to become heavily involved in mountaineering, I will involve myself in preparing myself as much as possible. After all, "There are bold mountaineers, and there are old mountaineers, but there are no bold AND old mountaineers".
When I finally reached the cat-track leading to the lodge, my feet were blistered, left groin in agony (it hurt every time I advanced my left leg forward), body exhausted, but my spirit high. I fell into a hysteric mood, bursting out bouts of laughter and cries. I wanted my friends to be with me. I wanted to share this experience with others. I thought about my family, about society and the human race. I'm not exactly sure why those random thought came to my head, but when on the mountain (especially after knowing you've have successfully completed a climb) things that matter become a lot more clear.
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