With a stretch of good weather in the forecast, one of my climbing friends, Gabe, proposed at the beginning of the week that we make a winter attempt on Hood (we'd planted the seed with each other a couple of weeks earlier at the Santiam Alpine Club's annual banquet). Despite my broken toe, I was eager to make the attempt, given what appeared would be perfect weather. It's hard to get such great weather windows in the winter in the PNW.
As the week rolled on, the good weather in the city belied what was happening on the mountain. In the 48 hours preceding Friday morning, two feet of snow had been reported. With the great weekend weather forecast and the decreasing avalanche danger, I knew that by Sunday, someone would have climbed Hood and broken the trail.
I couldn't have been more wrong.
Gabe and I met in a Safeway parking lot around 2 am on Sunday morning. We drove together the rest of the way to the mountain, the clear sky and full moon silhouetting the prominent peak. We were excited by our plans for a sunrise summit on a clear day working out.
Gabe and I met in a Safeway parking lot around 2 am on Sunday morning. We drove together the rest of the way to the mountain, the clear sky and full moon silhouetting the prominent peak. We were excited by our plans for a sunrise summit on a clear day working out.
Here's a map of the South Side Route, for reference.
Timberline Lodge, our starting point (just off the bottom of the picture) sits at an elevation of 5,960 ft.
The new snow showed itself from the start, requiring us to don our snowshoes from the moment we left the climbers' parking lot at 3.30 am, headlamps illuminating our path. We were both familiar with the long slog up Palmer snowfield (roughly the yellow ski area in the above picture) and the recently packed snowcat track made the trek somewhat easier. We reached the top of the Palmer snowfield by 5.45 am. Shortly after, the snow changed drastically to wind-blown ice. We swapped our snowshoes for crampons and continued our climb. At about the same time, the winds picked up and we were climbing through the clouds in blowing snow. Visibility was terrible, not more than 30 feet or so, and we couldn't tell the difference between ground and air. What happened to our forecast of clear skies?
The low visibility and challenging surface conditions made route finding more difficult and slowed our progress. Around 8.30 am, we reached 10,200 ft, just below and east of Crater Rock. While pausing for a brief rest and to get our bearings, a group of three climbers were descending toward us. We asked if they'd summited. They hadn't. They'd turned around after talking to another group higher up the mountain that had turned around after running into thigh deep powder. Looking around for a few minutes, we noticed that every climber ahead of us was turning around and heading back down the mountain, deep snow and white-out visibility to blame. I counted nine turning around. Gabe and I were certain we wouldn't make the summit and nearly turned around ourselves. But, we decided to press on and see what the conditions were like first hand.
After climbing another 150 vertical feet, to just east of Crater Rock, we discovered exactly why all the other climbers had turned around. My assumption that with the great weather, other climbers would have summited before us, turned out to be wrong. No one had climbed the mountain since the last snowfall. There were two climbers just ahead of us also assessing the snow and the climbing route.
Andrew was a beginning (but strong) climber on his first attempt of Mt. Hood. Lon was a veteran of the South Side route on Hood, having climbed it dozens of times. The four of us teamed up to tackle the challenging snow and weather conditions in a concerted push for the summit. Lon's experience on the route proved invaluable as we couldn't see more than thirty feet in any direction and it was impossible to see the difference between snow and cloud.
Our upward progress was excruciatingly slow as Andrew, Lon, and I took turns breaking the trail through two feet of powder. Gabe had been fighting a cold all week, but is a strong climber and was able to keep up with the group. It took two hours to work our way up the 40° slope to the summit ridge, a gain of 800 vertical feet. We ascended one of the Old Chutes, the left most route to the summit ridge in the photo above.
I broke the trail for the last 70 or so vertical feet, up the chute, and upon topping out on the summit ridge, was greeted by a knife edge cornice with a front row view down the 2,500 foot drop of the north side headwall.
Most of the hard work had been finished, but the scariest section of the climb was the next thirty feet. It is often described as a highly exposed, two-foot wide catwalk with a 2,500 foot drop to the left, and a 150 foot drop to the right (though if you fell, you'd tumble nearly 1,000 feet down the steep snow into a fumarole). Though in reality (at least at the time we climbed), the path through the gnarled ice was barely wider than a large mountaineering boot in many sections. Half way across the catwalk, the narrow footing caused one of the points of my crampons to catch on my gaiters, sending me tumbling forward. Only a solid, steady ice axe placement separated me from the fumaroles. If the adrenaline wasn't flowing yet, it certainly was now.
After we safely crossed the catwalk, it was a short, easy walk to the summit. And in a turn of luck for the day, the clouds broke long enough to give us a much deserved, beautiful view from the summit. After almost a year (mostly the last seven hours) and 5,400 vertical feet over 3.6 miles, we'd reached the summit of Mt. Hood.
Lon, Gabe, and I (left to right) on the summit.
After climbing another 150 vertical feet, to just east of Crater Rock, we discovered exactly why all the other climbers had turned around. My assumption that with the great weather, other climbers would have summited before us, turned out to be wrong. No one had climbed the mountain since the last snowfall. There were two climbers just ahead of us also assessing the snow and the climbing route.
Andrew was a beginning (but strong) climber on his first attempt of Mt. Hood. Lon was a veteran of the South Side route on Hood, having climbed it dozens of times. The four of us teamed up to tackle the challenging snow and weather conditions in a concerted push for the summit. Lon's experience on the route proved invaluable as we couldn't see more than thirty feet in any direction and it was impossible to see the difference between snow and cloud.
Our upward progress was excruciatingly slow as Andrew, Lon, and I took turns breaking the trail through two feet of powder. Gabe had been fighting a cold all week, but is a strong climber and was able to keep up with the group. It took two hours to work our way up the 40° slope to the summit ridge, a gain of 800 vertical feet. We ascended one of the Old Chutes, the left most route to the summit ridge in the photo above.
I broke the trail for the last 70 or so vertical feet, up the chute, and upon topping out on the summit ridge, was greeted by a knife edge cornice with a front row view down the 2,500 foot drop of the north side headwall.
Most of the hard work had been finished, but the scariest section of the climb was the next thirty feet. It is often described as a highly exposed, two-foot wide catwalk with a 2,500 foot drop to the left, and a 150 foot drop to the right (though if you fell, you'd tumble nearly 1,000 feet down the steep snow into a fumarole). Though in reality (at least at the time we climbed), the path through the gnarled ice was barely wider than a large mountaineering boot in many sections. Half way across the catwalk, the narrow footing caused one of the points of my crampons to catch on my gaiters, sending me tumbling forward. Only a solid, steady ice axe placement separated me from the fumaroles. If the adrenaline wasn't flowing yet, it certainly was now.
After we safely crossed the catwalk, it was a short, easy walk to the summit. And in a turn of luck for the day, the clouds broke long enough to give us a much deserved, beautiful view from the summit. After almost a year (mostly the last seven hours) and 5,400 vertical feet over 3.6 miles, we'd reached the summit of Mt. Hood.
Lon, Gabe, and I (left to right) on the summit.
The hardest part may have been over, but we still had to descend. Crossing back over the catwalk was no more entertaining the second time around and descending the steep Old Chute and snowfield may be more challenging than climbing up it. Facing away from the slope, it's more difficult to get a solid ice axe placement and the downward momentum of each step tends to make you slide down the slope, which is exactly what you're trying to avoid. Nonetheless, we made it back to the Devil's Kitchen (just east of Crater Rock) and off of the technical portion of the mountain without incident.
Andrew snapped this picture of Gabe and I on our descent, just after exiting the Old Chutes.
We rested for a few minutes at the Devil's Kitchen, but the clouds settled in again, so we began our descent in zero visibility. This is a challenge on Mt. Hood, because if you follow the natural fall line, it leads you away from Timberline Lodge, to the cliffs of Mississippi Head. Even being aware of this common mistake, we headed down the fall line for several minutes before referencing our GPS and realizing we'd traveled quite a ways off course. After that, being prudent with our navigation, the descent was simply a matter of putting one tired foot in front of the other. Unfortunately, snow conditions didn't permit glissading.
Finally, 12 hours after leaving the parking lot, we made it back to our car. By some standards, in some conditions, Hood's south side route is an easy one, but Gabe and I earned our summit the hard way. It was by far the most physically, mentally, and technically challenging climb I've completed to date.
Andrew snapped this picture of Gabe and I on our descent, just after exiting the Old Chutes.
We rested for a few minutes at the Devil's Kitchen, but the clouds settled in again, so we began our descent in zero visibility. This is a challenge on Mt. Hood, because if you follow the natural fall line, it leads you away from Timberline Lodge, to the cliffs of Mississippi Head. Even being aware of this common mistake, we headed down the fall line for several minutes before referencing our GPS and realizing we'd traveled quite a ways off course. After that, being prudent with our navigation, the descent was simply a matter of putting one tired foot in front of the other. Unfortunately, snow conditions didn't permit glissading.
Finally, 12 hours after leaving the parking lot, we made it back to our car. By some standards, in some conditions, Hood's south side route is an easy one, but Gabe and I earned our summit the hard way. It was by far the most physically, mentally, and technically challenging climb I've completed to date.
