Climbers making their way up the Hogsback at sunrise

Date: 5/5/21

I pressed the start button on my Garmin watch and checked the time. 1:04AM. Above us, billions of twinkling stars painted the sky. I was thankful for the calm and clear conditions that would accompany us on the climb ahead. We couldn’t see the finer details of our objective for the morning, but we knew its presence was there. Its hulking mass of rock and ice covered slopes blotted out a huge portion of stars on the northern horizon. It acted like a black hole, obscuring any light and drawing us in like a magnet.

At 11,237’, Wy’east (aka Mt. Hood) is Oregon’s highest point. While not a long hike, the journey to the summit gets technical and, as some would say, spicy in the final few hundred feet. This spice was why we had waited to attempt it until after we had a few more winter climbs under our belt. After we completed the Mt. Baker Orbit and a four day ski mountaineering course we felt up for the challenge of Mt. Hood.

Alex and I left the parking lot and followed a sign for the “climber’s trail” and began the 5,400’ climb. In the depths of the night, our world shrank down to the size of our headlamp’s halo. This is something I enjoy about alpine starts and night hikes. Without the distractions of my surroundings, or worse, the demoralizing view of just how far away and how high our objective is, I can easily fall into a rhythm and get lost in my thoughts.

After what felt like only a few minutes I checked the time. I was surprised to see that already an hour had passed, I was so focused on my rhythm that I didn’t even notice how far we had ascended. I looked behind me and saw that the Timberline Lodge more resembled a dollhouse than a towering building. I also noticed many bobbing headlamps below us, more climbers on their way up. Mt. Hood is one of the most climbed mountains in the entire world, seeing over 10,000 attempts per year. Because of this we chose to take time off work to go on a weekday, but it seems we weren’t the only ones with that idea.

We made it to Devil’s Kitchen by the time blue hour was softly illuminating the mountain’s features. The first thing I noticed about the Devil’s Kitchen was the overwhelming smell of sulfur. Mt. Hood is an active stratovolcano and in the crater there are fumaroles that continuously vent sulfuric steam, making it smell like a pit full of spoiled egg salad sandwiches. Despite the smell, we took our first long break there. There were a few guided groups also breaking and gearing up for the next portion of the climb.

Alex on the Hogsback looking up toward the Pearly Gates

In the early morning light I could finally see enough of my surroundings to turn my headlamp off and stow it in my pack. After our break we fell into step behind a group of four as we crested the famous Hogsback feature of the mountain—a wind scoured ridge that resembles the crest of a sand dune or, as the name implies, a hog’s back. From the Hogsback we had two options. The most straight forward route and the one we were planning on taking is the Pearly Gates—a narrow and steep chute that is surrounded by walls of rime ice that gives climbers the impression they are ascending through the pearly gates and into heaven. But, from halfway up the Hogsback we could see that there was already a bottleneck at the Hogsback so we veered left and began traversing towards the Old Chute. The traverse was steep, and below us was another fumarole venting steam. Not a place to fall, I reminded myself as I focused on my steps and tried to ignore the steep fall line in my peripheral. We moved as efficiently as possible through this section, noticing that above us the bergshrund was also beginning to open up. There were obstacles and dangers everywhere!

All of the guided groups had roped together into groups of three for the ascent up the Old Chute. Each group was comprised of one guide and two guests who were short-roped, the guide would then yank back on the rope if one of their guests slipped. Alex and I talked about our options and opted to go sans rope for the steep climb, knowing that if one of us fell on a slope so steep we likely would not have been able to arrest the other’s fall. We passed a few of the guided groups and found a solid boot pack that led up to the summit ridge. The going was steep, I had to lean forward into the mountain and use both my ice tool and my whippet to give me a little more security on the slope. Finally, I looked up and saw only a few steps were between me and the summit ridge. The ridge was starting to glow golden.

I took the final few steps onto the summit ridge and was greeted by a vertigo-inducing view that nearly caused me to lose my breakfast. On the opposite side of the ridge was a multi-thousand foot drop. My fear of heights kicked into high gear and I felt myself beginning to panic. I looked at the route that was supposed to take us to the summit—the Catwalk—and knew it was too far out of my comfort zone. The Catwalk is a narrow strip of snow that requires a strong sense balance and a strong dose of courage. When we arrived we were surprised to find that part of the Catwalk had collapsed in the middle, causing an already narrow walkway to shrink to the width of a balancing beam. Except instead of a few feet below the beam, there were several thousand airy feet beneath it.

There was a group of climbers on the opposite side of the Catwalk, they had summited via the Pearly Gates and wanted to descend via the Old Chute. Their group leader assessed the narrow strip of snow, crouched down, and straddled the Catwalk. One foot dangled above a few thousand feet of air and the other foot dangled over a rime ice covered rock band. He expertly planted his ice tool’s shaft into the snow to use as a solid anchor and began scooting across the catwalk. I love to push my comfort zone, but this maneuver—known as cheval—was so far out of my comfort zone I felt dizzy just thinking about it.

A group making their way up the Old Chute

Down-climbing was our only option at that point, so very carefully, we began to lower ourselves down the boot pack we had just spent so much effort climbing up.

We finally were low enough that we could see clear into the entrance of the Mazama Chute, yet another chute with access to the summit. Alex’s Achilles and calf were giving him a lot of pain so he decided that instead of going for the summit, he was happy with how far he had made it and he began his hike down.

I felt good, and despite being at over 11,000’, I didn’t feel any ill effects from the altitude so I decided to turn back towards the mountain and make my way up the Mazama Chute. There was already a guided group on a rope down-climbing the chute so I waited patiently for them at the base. While I waited, I heard pieces of ice and rock falling nearby as the sun began to heat up the mountain. The rockfall and icefall hazard is the reason most climbers start in the wee hours of the day. Everyone had the same goal: climb early, get in and out of the chutes before mid-morning and back to the relative safety of the lower slopes before huge ice chunks begin to rain down. Thankfully, the pieces falling as I waited at the base of the chute were still small, but they were a reminder that the sun was already affecting the mountain.

After the guided groups made it to the bottom and clipped into their snow anchor, I climbed the chute, already feeling more confident in exposed terrain. From the top of the chute I could see the true summit, it wasn’t more than a minute’s stroll away. I was bummed that we had initially ascended the Old Chute instead of immediately climbing up Mazama. If it wasn’t for that mistake, Alex would have been able to join me on the summit, but instead I made my way toward 11,237’ alone.

The wind had picked up in the morning and a smoky haze was beginning to cloud the horizon (plus, Alex was still waiting) so I didn’t linger on the summit. I snapped a few photos and then turned back around to descend the Mazama Chute.

A fumarole venting sulfuric steam near Hot Rocks

The descent was much easier and faster than I had anticipated. We had carried our skis all the way to the summit, but the southern slopes were still in the shadows so we were forced to carry our skis all the way back down to the Hogsback where we finally transitioned our skis and boots to ski mode.

While the sun was beginning to shake ice and rock from the upper portions of the mountains, it had not yet softened the snow on the central slopes. Our skis scraped across the firm and icy snow, chattering with every turn. The ski down may have not been what we were hoping for, but it was fast and it wasn’t long before we were back to the ski area. We hopped onto some groomers and cruised back down to the car.

When I hit the pavement I stopped my watch, the timer read 8:59.41.

I looked up at the summit. It seemed incredulous that just a couple hours prior, I was standing on the very top. The climb was tough, but it expanded the edges of my comfort zone. I may not be ready for cheval quite yet, but I am growing more confident with every climb!

Spring Summit of Mt. Hood

Date: 5/5/21