Allen Throop Special to Mid-Valley Sunday Climbing through rime ice near the summit. e 11,239-foot mountain, the most climbed peak in North America.

Stairway to heaven

Ascending Mount Hood puts climbers closer to death and life

By Allen Throop
Special to Mid-Valley Sunday

MOUNT HOOD — As midnight approached, our group walked out of the shelter, went around Timberline Lodge and started over the lower snowfields on our way to the top of Mount Hood.

Above us the sky was clear and the great volcano loomed in front of us under the bright light of a full moon.

Ten of us started off on this March climb. More than half were climbing neophytes.

I imagined their thoughts. ill I be cold? Will my headlamp hold out? Will the crampon points puncture my leg? Can I make it to the top? What am I doing here?

Such thoughts were easy to put aside at the beginning. The wind was gusty, but the temperature was comfortable for the pace our leader set.

Occasionally a climber would stop, turn away from the mountain and look to the south. The clouds that had covered the Willamette Valley all of the previous day now made a great white blanket beneath our feet. Majestic Mount Jefferson pierced the blanket.

To the east, the clouds ended and the lights of a far-off town gave a reassurance that central Oregon was resting quietly.

The pace up was steady but easy. As we trudged up the featureless lower slope, I thought about how the underlying geology influences the entire trip.

Mount Hood's lower slopes are long and uniform. Underneath the snow lies an accumulation of coarse volcanic rocks thrown violently over the slopes during an eruption 200 years ago, or perhaps from an earlier one about 1,400 years ago.

The plan was to walk for an hour, rest and snack; walk an hour, rest and snack; repeat for 9 to 12 hours until we reached the summit.

At 2:30 A.M., we reached the top of the Palmer ski lift. The winds were stronger now. By crowding along the lee side of the lift building, we found a relatively wind-free area to prepare for the next section of the climb.

The first test of our ability came here. Strapping the 14 spikes onto boots was an easy exercise when sitting on the back porch with the sun streaming down and with a cup of hot coffee close at hand. Getting into the crampons and into climbing harnesses in the dark, in the cold, and with fingers that got stiff quickly after gloves were removed was far more difficult.

The importance of getting the crampons on correctly and ensuring that all the harness buckles were securely fastened was obvious to each climber. The group members talked quietly as they focused on getting the jobs done correctly.

During the stop, I noticed that the tubing on my new, fancy hydration system was frozen. Fortunately, a conventional water bottle was accessible and unfrozen.

Getting prepared took about an hour. We were anxious to start moving again to get warmth back into our bodies.

As we climbed above the lift, we entered the wilderness area that covers the top of Mt. Hood and left behind the noise and lights of the snow-grooming tractor that we had been playing tag with as we climbed along the empty ski lifts.

The grade steepens quickly just above the end of the lift. This section is now a blur of memories; the order in which they really occurred is uncertain.

The wind got stronger and knocked one or two people over. The lights of Portland were visible through the clouds. The smell of sulfur from the sleeping volcano wafted down on wind gusts.

Dawn gradually started to add some color to the black and white night world. We packed up our ski poles and got out ice axes as the climbing got tougher.

Daybreak is always an inspiring time for me, but it was far more impressive in a special place like a mountainside, where distractions are few. Although the temperature didn't change quickly, the spirits of the group members rose with the rising sun.

With the light of morning, we could see Crater Rock looming above. The massive pillar is a silent reminder of the last eruption of Mount Hood. So is the nearby Devil's Kitchen, where steam slowly rose from the snow-less rock heated by energy from the sleeping volcano.

As we worked our way around the base of Crater

Rock and entered the crater, the winds subsided. The three-sided crater, the center of most eruptions, offered a welcome shield.

Climbing should have been more pleasant, but a much steeper grade offset the presence of daylight and lack of wind. As we scrambled up the side of the long narrow, steep ridge of snow known as the hogback, we could see groups of other climbers outlining the route to the top.

Upon reaching the top of the hogback, we regrouped.

Some went off to relieve themselves. Distance has to substitute for privacy in this treeless snowy world.

Overpopulation of mountaintops can bring up environmental issues similar to those of the larger world. With about 10,000 people making the climb every year, waste disposal is a big issue.

Soon the climbing ropes came out and we reviewed climbing procedures. The last time I stood on the hogback, my place, as a newcomer to climbing, was clearly at the lower end of the rope.

This time my experience relative to my companions dictated me as the leader for one of the rope groups. I helped my partners to clip onto the rope, checked that all the harnesses were correctly installed, and tried to hide my nervousness.

After numerous practice sessions I was confident that I could anchor a falling climber; my preference was to not get put to the test. When everyone was ready, the final ascent began.

The day was warm now, but the sun was hidden by the summit. The route got steeper and steeper and the snow harder and harder.

Kick step, rest, kick step, rest. Plant the ice axe. Kick step, rest. Don't step on the rope! (Sharp crampon points and ropes don't mix.)

Move too fast and the rope tightens as a signal the climber behind you can't keep up. Move too slowly and the rope gets excessive slack. When the group in front of us slowed, we stopped, rested and enjoyed the view.

The end of the hogback meant leaving the snow and glacier that sits in the old volcano's crater and starting up over the icy bedrock.

The bergshrund, the crevasse between the glacier's ice and the rock of the mountain, was bridged by a thick accumulation of snow. As summer approaches, snow will melt, and a formidable crevasse will develop with a wide top that narrows to a sliver where the snow and rock finally meet at the bottom.

The chute we followed through the rocks above the glacier is known as the Pearly Gates. We could see other climbers ahead of us kick steps into the snow as they worked their way slowly up through this most difficult part of the climb.

If each party took the safest approach and waited until the preceding group was safely through the chute, climbers would back up like the highway traffic on the Terwilliger curves in Portland after an accident. Few parties would get to the top.

We took a chance, started through the Gates before the group ahead was through, and got through without incident.

The massive spires of the Pearly Gates loomed above us. In places we could see the large angular rocks, firmly cemented together, that form the spires but mostly the rock was covered with a winter's accumulation of snow and ice. The rock, composed of a wide variety of sizes and types of angular rock was a reminder that the rocks were once blown out of the erupting Mount Hood.

Many of the rocks were thrown out of the crater but these rolled back into the throat of the volcano and got cemented there by the mineral rich fluids that followed the violent explosion.

The route was less steep above the Pearly Gates and we climbed easily through a wonderland of ice formations. Elongate four- to six-foot mushrooms of ice glistened in the warm, welcome sunlight that finally reaches us. The icy shapes are wonderful and intriguing to watch as we worked our way around them during the final pitch to the top.

Then, at 9:30 a.m., we couldn't climb any more. The 11, 239-foot summit was ours.

Time for hugs, high fives, toasts, long looks from Mount St. Helens to Mt. Jefferson, and a welcome rest.

Behind me, my favorite wife is relaxed for the first time in the trip. This was Janet's first summit of a major peak

. She enjoyed the experience and we were both elated.

Three of our four water bottles were now frozen shut, but the fourth, hidden deep in a pack, worked fine. We knew that the water in the other bottles would be available as the day warmed during the trip down.

The 30 other people on the on top were a clear reminder that Mount Hood is the most-climbed major peak in North America. A member of another party made an intriguing comment: "The climb up is voluntary; the climb down is mandatory."

We still had a long way to go.

After 30 minutes, we regrouped and headed down. I was still the upper person on the rope, but this time I could watch the others as they worked their way slowly down in front of me.

As we got to the Pearly Gates, a traffic jam developed. A climber in another party in the middle of the narrow, steep chute had a loose crampon so we waited for an hour while the problem was resolved. Fortunately, we were out of the wind and the air was warm.

Going up, the view was narrow as we focused on the snow and ice about to be climbed. Climbing down allowed for a view of the big picture.

Mount Jefferson dominates the southern skyline. Between Mount Jefferson and Timberline Lodge, the commanding view was the forests and clear-cuts of the Cascades.

As we worked our way down, I tried to look through the trees to the underlying landforms. A picture of huge U-shaped valleys became clear to me. During the Pleistocene Epoch, most of the large valleys, now tree-covered, were filled with vast rivers of ice flowing down from the high peaks.

The few remaining glaciers are mere remnants of their massive predecessors. While the ice has retreated over the last 10,000 years, Mount Hood has continued to grow.

Lewis and Clark found evidence of the last major eruption when they passed the mountain almost 200 years ago. They discovered and named the Quicksand River. The descriptive name was a reference to a huge delta in the Columbia, which hindered their travels. The material came from mudflows that washed down the river and into the Columbia after Mt. Hood's last significant eruption a few years earlier.

By 1850, the name had been shortened to the Sandy River.

After getting down and around Crater Rock, climbers were still passing us on their way up. The wisdom of our night climb was, unknown to them, etched in their tired faces. They were hot and sweating as they struggled through the now-soft snow. Even if they had ridden the ski lifts to gain half of the elevation that we walked, I didn't envy them as they struggled upward.

Since the weather was clear and the route obvious, our party coiled up the ropes and then broke up into smaller groups and headed down separately, each group at its own pace.

The snow below Crater Rock was a mixture of the new and old. The new snow was melting in the sun.

The soft snow balled up under Janet's boots made her two inches taller and also made the crampon points completely useless. So the crampons came off.

But the route crossed patches of older snow, which was not yet softened by the day's sun. We tried a sitting glissade as a quick way to get us 1,000 feet down the mountainside.

Unfortunately, the icy areas were very rough. What should have been fun turned out to be more like sliding over sandpaper made with scattered ping-pong balls as the abrasive. So we stood and worked our way carefully down, step by step, sticking to the new snow wherever possible.

The top of the Palmer ski lift appeared to be only a short distance off. Thirty minutes later, the lift didn't seem any closer. We kept walking down and looking out over the magnificent mountain view.

Eventually, we reached the top of the lift; we were halfway down.

As we got closer to Timberline Lodge, the snow got softer and softer. Finally, we got to the parking lot about 3 p.m. Again, high fives and hugs all around.

Mount Hood loomed behind us. A massive peak.

We all had a sense of accomplishment, but this was a very special day for Janet and the others who will long remember the day of their first successful summit climb. The acc

omplishment is real for the small percentage of the population who have reached the summit.

I was also glowing. The sunburn, due to inadequate sunscreen application, was only part of reason.

Our trip leader, Keith Daellenbach, had assumed that, given typical March weather, we had about a 50 percent chance of starting. Getting the entire group up and down with no problems was a credit to his leadership skills.

Two months later, a climber, just above the Pearly Gates, slipped and fell. His rope partners were unable to arrest the fall. The falling climbers ropes, axes, etc. picked up other parties and carried them down until the whole mass fell into the gaping bergschrund that, after two months of snowmelt, separated the rock from the glacier.

Three people died. The fatalities cast a somber shadow over those of us who climb.

I can vividly imagine the sequence of events on the mountain. That fatal incident will influence my future climbs.

But I can also picture a shrouded body lying on the side of Interstate 5 after a nasty wreck and the pain-wracked body of a friend as he was consumed by cancer.

My thoughts of death are balanced by the beautiful starry moonlight night as we climbed, by memories of the fantastic sculptures made by rime ice near Mount Hood's summit and, perhaps most importantly, by the close relationships I have developed with family and friends with whom I have shared such experiences.

With challenges, life brings rewards as well as the risks.

My plans for a climb of North Sister with my adult children will continue.

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