Mountaineering probably is a good approximation of most things in life -- there are no guarantees. Thus, even if you spend several months training on the steepest trails you can find in the Columbia River Gorge, and then load up a full summit pack in the hopes of standing on the roof of Oregon on a clear spring day, you should consider yourself fortunate if you make it on your first attempt. My team on Sunday morning (two experienced climbers and two newcomers) got close -- very close -- but time and other factors turned us back with the final route to the summit in view.
As with a good deal of climbers hoping to summit
Mount Hood, our odyssey began after midnight Sunday morning in the
Climber's Cave at
Timberline Lodge. With around 30 lbs of gear each and headlamps, we set out for the top of the ski area, passing
Silcox Hut in the dark without even noticing it (we later determined that this sign was our indicator):
The "
catwalk" at the top of the
Palmer ski run is a level shelf created by snow-cats for skiers and climbers, and it marks the upper boundary of the Timberline resort. We reached this point in 2 hrs, 8 min., knocking off the first 2,500 vertical feet of a 5,250-foot route. We were moving at better than 1,000 feet per hour, which was our goal. However, once we reached the catwalk, we also came across plenty of other climbers, many of whom paid for a snow-cat ride in order to start their bids closer to the summit -- and, frankly, skipping the most tedious part of the experience. (Pardon the quality of the night/twilight photos here, which were taken in a bit a rush.)
We started our way up from here, where footing improved dramatically -- rather than struggling with the clumpy, overturned snow in the snow-cat tracks, firm steps were kicked in along the middle section of the south-face route, taking us all the way up to
Crater Rock. The first suggestions of daylight appeared along here, sometime around 4 am, revealing that we were well above the clouds. We were going to have sunshine on a rainy morning throughout most of northwest Oregon.
The pitch gets pretty steep as well above Palmer, sometimes between 35-40 deg. We got a good view of the
Steel Cliffs, the formation that constitutes the "hump" below the summit when Mt. Hood is viewed from the west (Portland).
Meanwhile, several climbing teams continued up the south-face route, around the east side of Crater Rock and into the south crater.
On a day like today, sunrise from this location is one of the most impressive sights in Oregon, as Mt. Hood casts a shadow on the cloud-layer below:
"
Devils Kitchen" made its presence known well before it came into view, with its vents releasing the unmistakable smell of sulfur dioxide (an odor that seems burned into my memory for the time being).
From here, the crux of the summit attempt came into view -- a spine of snow called "
The Hogsback" (right) and the final climb to the summit area. Normally, climbers will take the Hogsback to a narrow chute just to the right, leading to a rock formation known as "
The Pearly Gates" (upper right). However, ice and other concerns have caused the gates to be less used this season, leading most climbers to the nearest alternate,
The Mazama Chute, which can be reached by traversing left from the hogsback, or simply by starting uphill from another sulfur vent. When we arrived sometime around 6:30 am, the south crater looked like a traffic jam. There were a lot of people here, and it seemed like they were barely moving.
Our climb captain, who has been to The Hogsback numerous times in the past 10 years, noted that it was the busiest he had ever seen it -- likely a result of poor conditions over the past two weekends (avalanches, and then thunderstorms), giving weekend climbers their first good weather window on the summit for nearly a month. We could count nearly 40 climbers in sight, with perhaps a similar number on the summit or elsewhere, and more teams were arriving behind us.
And thus, we chose to turn back here, not wanting to get in a chute that was beginning to look overly crowded. Beyond this, one member of our team had a severe dehydration headache, while another was growing sicker by the minute from the odor of sulfur. It was disappointing, but a short team conference made it clear that several factors would prevent us from getting much higher on this day.
As for me, I was practically asleep on my feet -- despite sleeping late on Saturday morning and then trying to get a quick nap before we left Timberline, I found myself battling the severe urge to sleep once I got abeam Crater Rock. I knew something wasn't normal about me at first -- not physically, but just a vague sense of
apathy, like I somehow didn't care as much as I knew I should with the summit very near. Concentration became difficult, my pace too slow, my breathing deep in the thin air.
Had I the opportunity to nap in a tent for 30 minutes, I think I could have made the last 750 feet to the summit. Or maybe I could have just slogged it out for another hour. But, in my mental state, I suspect that moving forward was too risky -- the need to sleep was unspeakably overwhelming. When I first stepped on The Hogsback, a team member asked me how I was doing. I don't remember what I said, but I recall slurring my words as I spoke. Not good.
And thus, I join my summit team members in a general sense of disappointment -- we worked very hard to get this high on the mountain. Even more disappointing, after taking two Advil and getting an hour's nap on the carpool back to Portland, I got home to unpack all of my gear and felt wide-awake, with very little in the way of soreness. The only things I didn't train for (couldn't train for?) were sleep deprivation and elevation, and I feel like the mountain got the better of me today because of it.
-Robert
