Friday, the 18th, I set off with a friend I met through climb school for a practice climb on Mt. Hood. Our plan was to leave Portland after work, climb part way up Mt. Hood Friday evening, camp on the Palmer snowfield, then wake up early Saturday morning and climb as high as we could. Neither of us had summited a technical peak before, so it was largely a practice and learning climb, and we weren't sure if we'd make a push for the summit, or not.
We arrived at Timberline Lodge (a historic lodge and ski area on Mt. Hood that is the starting point of the standard route up Mt. Hood), geared up, filled out our wilderness permit and were on our way up the mountain by eight o'clock. From the parking lot at an elevation of 5,800 feet, we had a two-and-a-half mile hike up a snow field to reach our planned camping elevation of 8,600 feet. This portion of the climb parallels the upper ski lifts of Timberline Ski Area. Hiking up a partially groomed trail made the hiking easier in plastic mountaineering boots and a 30lb pack. About halfway to camp, the sun was setting and we'd reached the less protected area of the mountain, where the wind was gusting up to 20 mph.
We stopped for our first break to put on shell jackets and warmer gloves. From there on up, each time I stopped for a Clif Bar, the wind swept every bit of heat I'd worked up off into the night, so as to constantly prod me to keep moving. In the darkness, it seemed as though we were walking aimlessly, never getting closer to our goal.
Finally, after a three hour slog, we made it to the top of the ski lift (no camping is allowed in the ski area, so we had to get above it and into the wilderness area before we could find a place to camp). By that time, it was after eleven o'clock, the wind was howling, and we were searching by headlamp for a place to camp that was protected from the wind. There wasn't one. The snow was frozen solid, so digging a snow cave was out of the question; all we could do was use our ice axes to level two spots in the snow for our sleeping pads. We knew the sky would stay clear and weren't planning on sleeping for long, so we opted not to pitch a tent and just sleep under the stars. That turned out to be a mistake. It was my first time sleeping under the stars, without a tent, and when I cinched the mummy sleeping bag tight around my face, all I could see was a pitch black sky with thousands of stars glowing against it. I even saw a shooting star. When I rolled to my right side, I could see the lights of the city glowing in the distance (Hood is by far the tallest mountain around Portland). It was definitely the best view I've ever fallen asleep to.
That was the last time I smiled all night. Despite having a base layer, softshell jacket, down vest, down sweater and hardshell jacket on, and being wrapped in a lofty, winter-weight down sleeping bag, I froze my ass off all night. Shortly after we climbed into our sleeping bags, the wind shifted directions and cut straight across my sleeping bag, easily blowing through the thin fabric of the bag. I estimate the overnight temperature to have been in the low twenties, with a wind chill near zero (I was too cold to reach out of my bag and check the thermometer on my watch).
When we woke up at 3 am and saw a string of lights from the headlamps of other climbers making their way up the mountain, neither Ben nor I had the slightest motivation to leave the relative warmth of our sleeping bags and put on freezing cold boots to get the early start we would need to reach the summit. I just cinched the draw string on the mummy bag tighter and turned my face away from the cold air pouring through the face hole in a vain attempt to get a little sleep.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the sky started to lighten and the miserable night had ended. The prospect of sun gave me the motivation to slide my feet into freezing cold boots and leave the protection of my sleeping bag. Ben cooked breakfast (read: boiled water to heat up freeze dried meals) and by 7.30 am we were packed up and ready to continue our climb up the mountain. Here is our "camp" after the freezing cold night.
Helmets, harnesses, and crampons on and ice axes in hand, we began our trek toward the upper reaches of the mountain. The great weather meant there were dozens of other climbers on the mountain, so finding the route up was not difficult. The good weather and the hot breakfast helped to make our progress quick. By 10am, we'd climbed to over 10,000 feet, just over 1,000 feet below the summit.
We had decided by that time that it was too late in the day for us to attempt the summit. We could already see congestion near the top of the route and the sun had started to noticeably soften the snow (climbing becomes significantly more difficult in soft snow and the dangers of rockfall increase as the temperature increases). Despite knowing we weren't going to make the summit, we decided to climb another 500 hundred vertical feet to see some of the prominent features of the mountain.
We stopped just below the Devil's Kitchen for a rest (named for the hot, bare rock in the foreground, the steam venting from this fumarole lends a strong odor of sulfur to the air).
On the left side of this picture is the Hogsback, (a snow saddle that runs from one rim of the volcano to the other) where climbers gear up for the final summit push. That was our final destination for the day.
From our vantage point on the Hogsback (~10,500 feet), we could see dozens of climbers making their way up the last section before the summit (this congestion is one reason we opted not to push for the summit that late in the day: the large concentration of beginner climbers has caused accidents on Mt. Hood before). In this picture, you can see the route above us with lots of climbers heading toward the old chute.
After relaxing and enjoying our view from the Hogsback, We started to make our way down. When hiking 14ers in Colorado, I truly believe that going down is harder than hiking up. I found the opposite is true when it comes to climbing snowy peaks. Glissading (sitting on your butt and sliding down the mountain, using your ice axe as a brake) made the thousands of vertical feet we had climbed up in the past 13 hours rush by with little effort on the way down.
Despite the long, cold night and not reaching the summit, our climb was very successful in that I learned a lot. It was my first time walking with crampons, sleeping under the stars, and climbing on a glaciated peak. Ben and I also got to scout the route up the mountain and after learning from our mistakes, we'll be more prepared next time and are confident we'll reach the summit. I'm very excited to have a new hobby, as my climbing career is just beginning...
(as usual, the rest of the pictures are on
flickr, and these are definitely worth checking out)
