Climbing Mt. Adams

A couple of my climbing partners have been training for Mt. Rainier (near Seattle, the most prominent glaciated peak in the lower 48) and were climbing Mt. Adams for training. I was also supposed to be training for Rainier, but I was out of town for their climb dates. When they brought up climbing Mt. Adams, I was instantly on board. By volume, Mt. Adams is the second largest volcano in the Cascade Range and rises to 12,281 ft, with a prominence (height above the surrounding terrain) of 8,117 ft. It is by all measures a large mountain.

Most climbers hike the non technical route halfway up the mountain to a broad shelf known as Lunch Counter in one day, then climb the remaining way to the summit and descend on a second day. Gabe, Jeremy, and I planned a variation of the standard South Spur Route that would include glacier travel, crevasse navigation, and steep snow and ice climbing.

However, when we arrived at the Mt. Adams ranger station Saturday morning, we were informed that the route we'd chosen was closed as it entered seasonally open Indian territory. Also conspiring against us was an oncoming low pressure system and rain forecast for Sunday.

We decided that the summit was our real goal, so we traveled the standard, dog route. We left the trailhead just before 11 am, slightly behind our initial goal. Though it was late June, we hiked less than a mile from the trailhead before hitting snow. The snow was melting in the heat of the afternoon sun, but was firm enough that travel was relatively easy and we made good time.

We made a friend on the way up.


By 3.00 pm, we made it to lunch counter, a 3,900 ft climb over four miles. We were tired from carrying heavy packs loaded with technical climbing and overnight gear. However, with rain in the forecast for Sunday, we decided to set up camp, refuel, then make a push for the summit while we had good weather. We still had a few hours of daylight left and decided  a sunset summit would be a great idea.

Unfortunately, the climb from Lunch Counter to Piker's Peak (the false summit) is the longest, steepest section of the climb. It's a sustained slope with sections as steep as 45° that rises 2,000 feet in only one mile. Fortunately, because we were climbing in the evening, the snow on the slope was soft and made for easy steps without crampons. Climbing the frozen slope in the morning would have required crampons and been much more strenuous.

Despite the long day behind us, we made relatively good time up the slope, gaining Piker's Peak in two hours.

From there, a short, slightly downhill hike, then uphill slog gains the summit. This turned out to be the longest part of the day. The altitude and exhaustion were catching up to all of us and our progress slowed. Still, we made reasonable time and gained the summit 45 minutes before sunset. We'd gained 6,900 feet over 5.5 miles in about nine hours. None of us were feeling great and the wind wasn't very friendly, so we took the obligatory summit pictures then began our descent.


We took advantage of some glissading to speed our descent, but the conditions were less than ideal. The snow had begun to refreeze, so the glissade paths were hard and fast. Gabe and I both managed to break buckles on our packs and I wore a hole through the mesh on one of my side pockets, nearly sending my Nalgene down the mountain ahead of me. Despite some difficulties, there was some good glissading to be had and the trip back to Lunch Counter and our camp was relatively uneventful.

Except for one thing.

Though I had forgotten, we were climbing on the night of the super moon. And just as the sun was setting, we were treated to the most incredible view of a mountain shadow I've ever seen. The few clouds in the sky gave way to the moon, making for one of the most awe inspiring views I've ever had and one of the best pictures I've ever taken. The view for this shot was only there for a few minutes and I was fortunate to look up and see it and more fortunate still to capture it.


We made it back to camp just before dark, ate dinner, then promptly climbed into the tent to sleep. When I woke briefly at 3 am, rain was pummeling the tent walls. We'd made the right decision to summit Saturday evening.

Sunday morning came around 6.30 am when we all woke, listening to the rain. It would be a miserable, wet day and our plans to explore the Mazama Headwall and do some technical climbing were instantly cancelled. We took advantage of a lightening rain around 7 to break camp and begin our descent. Just after 9 am, we were back at the car, having descended 3,900 feet and 3.75 miles in an hour-and-a-half. We didn't linger in the rain.

Despite the poor weather on Sunday, we had a great climb and accomplished most of what we wanted to. And I got to check off one more of the Cascade volcanoes.

Tough Mudder Oregon

When my rock climbing partner, Dante, mentioned interest in doing a Tough Mudder, I was instantly game. I'd been wanting to do one for a while. For those that don't know, Tough Mudder is basically a 10-12 mile long trail run with ~20 obstacles throughout the course. Right up my alley.

I didn't really have to do any special training for it. I'd been rock climbing three days a week since the beginning of the year and have been playing 3-5 indoor soccer games a week for a long time. I did participate in a couple of Ultimate Fitness Classes through my gym, which are basically an hour-and-a-half circuit training that included flipping tractor tires, dragging tires, swinging sledge hammers, rattling heavy chains, and many other plyometric exercises. Again, right up my alley as far as working out goes. I'd also climbed several large volcanoes, which turned out to be great preparation for the event.

We had a team of three for the run, including one of Dante's high school friends. I'll spare all the details of the race and just mention a few highlights. Our start time was 10:40 on Saturday (third heat), which was good because we started well before it got too hot. The event was held at Wilson Ranch Retreat in central Oregon and the weather was 70s with not a cloud in the sky.

For 20 minutes before your race starts, you listen to an MC discuss the Wounded Warrior charity and course rules. He explained that it was a team event, not a race and that if you saw anyone injured or in need of help to stop and hold your arms in an "X" over your head to notify medical staff to come over. We got to use our Xs right away. As our heat of ~100 people left the starting line, a few members of the Wilson family rode in front of us on horses. One of the horses stopped and stood up on its hind legs, attempting to throw its rider. The horse fell back, on top of the women riding it. Dante, Brian and I were at the front of our heat, with a first row view. Our whole heat stopped and held our arms in Xs over our heads, not knowing whether to continue the race or wait for help. The woman got up, saying she was ok. We found out after the race that she had broken a couple of ribs.

Many of the obstacles required climbing over wooden walls and logs and crawling through mud or swimming through muddy water. In some places the mud was knee deep and smelled like manure.

The second obstacle of the race was called Arctic Enema. It's basically a giant dumpster full of water and ice that you have to jump in, swim through, duck your head under a log, then climb out the other side. By the time I was climbing out, all of my muscles were tight and felt like cramping. With the warm weather and running ahead, though, I warmed up quickly.

There were two electrocution obstacles on the course. Each had dangling wires carrying up to 10,000 volts of electricity. The first, Electric Eel required you to crawl through muddy water while being shocked. It is impossible to avoid the wires. I probably got shocked a dozen times, despite crawling as quickly as possible. With each shock, your muscles contract involuntarily and violently. The worst were the shocks to my head. They felt like a combination of being punched in the head and blacking out. Some people described it as a "brain reboot". That's pretty accurate.

The second electrocution obstacles was the last obstacle of the race, Electroshock Therapy. For this obstacle, you could stand up and run through the dangling wires. Per the suggestion of one of the race coordinators talking to the spectators at the obstacle, Brian, Dante, and I linked our arms before entering. We starting running and made it about half way, getting shocked simultaneously, before a shock sent Brian to his knees, pulling me down. The last half of the obstacle was an every-man-for-himself dash to escape. The shocks hurt.

Three hours after we started, we'd finished the race and received our free beer. We watched other competitors run through Electroshock Therapy (and some chicken out). I flipped a 400 pound tractor tire 10 times to get two more free beers. All in all, it was a very fun event and I look forward to doing another.

Since a lot of people ask, the hardest thing about the event wasn't the obstacles. Team work is highly encouraged, often necessary and makes the obstacles relatively easy. The hardest part was the hill running. I was in pretty good shape from soccer and mountaineering, though, so the hills and running didn't phase me too much.

Here's our team picture just after crossing the finish line.