Mount Hood Favorites

Fondest memory: Capturing nature in photos is no easy task. Waiting is the key word. Lighting is the another. You do a lot of the former and often to get the latter. Animals don't pose though in some of the best shots you would swear they do. Even seemingly inanimate objects change over the course of minutes when you are dealing with things in nature. Mountain peaks have a weather all their own. You might be in perfect sunlight only to find a peak enshrouded in clouds. Capturing a reflection of that same peak? Well, wind is another thing mountains seem to attract and that my friend is no friend to mirror-like lakes. One thing you have to be is persistent and another thing is an early riser. While late afternoon light can be the warmest of all, early mornings have their own hue too. You are also more likely to have a landscape to yourself. And for reflections, it is your absolute best chance. The last thing you need is luck. You can only time so much. Timing is often just a matter of good luck.

I have had my share of good luck but to be fair, I have been diligent about putting myself into position for it to happen often. Hiking around the Cotopaxi volcano in Ecuador in 2007, I got up very early from backpacking slumber to get myself to a lake that the day before was like a raging ocean. I had the faith that it might, just might be flat that morning. It was a mirror and I snapped quickly, with fury. Minutes later it was churning up, reflective no more. (continued below in Fondest Memory)

Fondest memory: In the morning, we decided to walk over to the lake. It was not quite as early as I normally would go out for a shoot but I had no idea what I would find on reaching the lake. There was Mount Hood with a lake begging to reflect before me. There were some slight ripples and I wanted to curse myself for missing the opportunity but on taking some photos I noticed what I thought were clouds clinging to the peak. The light was not great and it was not due to the time of day but to a lack of clarity in the air. I would later learn that forest fires had hazed the sky and what I noticed around Mount Hood was not a cloud but smoke. It was bad timing and no amount of planning would have made it otherwise.

A week later, I got my much coveted reflection of Rainier. It was not at dawn but early enough and it was good timing as it was a perfectly flat at that instant. Good luck, good timing. Two sides of the same thing or a philosophical debate? I'm not sure but I got the shot and I took it.

1 more image

Favorite thing: Mountains always look different after you've been to the summit. This one is no exception. That's when the rush comes to you. To view Mount Hood in all her glory and be able to say "Been there, climbed that", but with awe and respect and not an ounce of swagger. To know that it tested you and that you passed, maybe not with flying colors, but that you pulled through and got it done. That is my own personal moment.

There was a lot of disappointment for me afterwards. Moments of difficulty that bordered on a sense of failure. In the end, I got it done, but with more help than should have been necessary. Most surprising, to me, was that I can't wait to take on something else. I'm anxious to get back out there. Driving back to Portland, tired and sore, I kept thinking, what's next? Next, for me, is going to be some snow and glacier training to get some badly needed skills. But, what is the next peak, the next journey, the next place where I'll stand above the clouds? I'm not sure yet, but I can't wait to find out.

Favorite thing: I started loading gear into the car. Walking through the lobby at about 12:50 a.m dressed in ski pants, a ski cap, mountaineering boots, holding my helmet, ice axe dangling and harness around my waist clanking, I received a curious stare from the front desk person.

I couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, why I do things like this. I always think I find the answer to that at a summit or in a moment of reflection afterwards. But I keep coming back to that question. I work hard and in my spare stolen moments of vacation when I should be relaxing, I'm eating a vday old sandwich at midnight and clanking through a motel lobby preparing to engage in a ten hour grueling day. It kinda makes you wonder, doesn't it?

It was chilly outside, with the thermometer hovering around 40 degrees. Temperatures at our starting point would be near freezing. Perfect conditions for the long awaited climb. Pushing aside the existential crisis, we finished loading up the car and headed towards Timberline Lodge and the long awaited climb.

Favorite thing: Not long after I shut my eyes, the alarm sounded. It was 12:15 a.m. Adrenaline jolted me out of bed and I began getting ready. I put on a couple of my lightest layers, and a windbreaker to ward off the chilly evening (or was it morning?) air, stuffed the rest of the gear into my backpack and stepped into my harness.

Having learned the hard way on Mount Whitney the importance of eating even when I don't feel like it, I scarfed down the chicken wrap I hadn't eaten from yesterday. My stomach found this revolting, but I knew I would thank myself later. There was a long journey ahead and I didn't want to crash from fatigue.

Favorite thing: We headed back to our rooms at the Mount Hood Inn, took quick showers and walked over to the Ixeaxe Grill for some food. It was about 5:30 p.m. and we were trying to convince ourselves that we were tired enough to go to sleep. Last year, I had a leisurely meal here with some fellow would be climbers, sampling the micro brews while snow fell steadily outside from grayish sides. This year, the sun shone brightly as it would for several hours as we scarfed down a large meal of pre climb food. Nearly an entire pizza later, I felt sluggish enough to attempt a couple of hours of sleep.

We staged out our clothes for the next day and made sure our food and water bottles, including my precious redbull, being carried in a Nalgene bottle to prevent an explosion at high altitude, and assembled our harnesses and backpacks for the next day's adventure.

Our guides told us not to worry about sleeping. After all, most Everest climbers do not sleep the night before. Well, we weren't Everest climbers and not sleeping worried me. Fortunately, as I live on the East Coast, 7 p.m. felt late enough for me to try and nod off.

I actually managed to fall asleep and was awakened by noise from outside a neighboring room. I was about to go say something to the offenders when my better half pointed out that it was about 7:45 p.m. and, what exactly, could I say? Keep it down, people are trying to sleep. As always, he had a good point.

Favorite thing: The day before our climb, we met our guides at 9 a.m. to go over gear and head out to a slope along the base of the mountain to learn some snow and ice techniques. The view and the day were so different than they had been when we trudged to this spot the year before. This time, we knew we were really going while last time we wandered out there knowing the next day's climb had been cancelled. The mountain was clearly visible while last year I almost wondered if it was there at all. And, instead of being pelted with snow, warm sunshine beamed down on us. It was hard to believe that it was the same place I'd been to a year before.

The soft snow did not make for the best training ground. One member of our group commented that it was like walking on mashed potatoes. I can't say whether that analogy is correct, but it was definitely difficult to step, plant crampons and do anything without sinking into the soft slush.

These are not the best conditions for learning the proper footing for gripping ice. The guides kept warning us that it would be different, and more difficult, to make the steps when it was ice our feet were touching as opposed to snow we were sinking into. I think this definitely made a difference and contributed to the difficulties the following day. If I'd known, I think I might have opted for hiking to a higher elevation and camping out, allowing for more practice on firmer ground.

Fondest memory: But spending the day at 6500 plus feet definitely helped. I didn't feel any of the symptoms of altitude the following day. Mount Hood is only 11,200 feet (and change), but altitude sickness can strike at any higher elevation. For me, I generally feel the dizziness which makes climbing, especially descending, difficult. I didn't have that problem to contend with the following day and credit the day of acclimitizing for this. But Hood would present me with other challenges.

We didn't finish training until nearly 4 p.m. and we told to be back by 1:30 a.m. to be ready for our 2 a.m. snowcat departure. That didn't leave much time for much more than a quick shower, a meal and an attempt to get some sleep.

2 more images

Favorite thing: After our fifteen minutes of celebration at the summit, it was time to head down. The guides kept pressing us to keep moving, as the sun would quickly warm the ice and snow, turning it into slush which would be harder to navigate with crampons.

The first and second photos show the angle of the chute we descended and the third shows us struggling with the descent. I get dizzy just looking at it. Did I mention that I am afraid of heights? I tried to keep that to myself and out of my thoughts as we descended this steep part.