Mt. Hood (Pearly Gates) 12/28/13

Credit: Mark Johnson

I learned two things on my climb of Mt. Hood yesterday: First, as much as I love the climb, when it comes down to it, I am a skier who climbs, not a climber who skis. Second, don't test new gear in no-fall zones.

I didn't intend to summit Mt. Hood when I arrived in the Timberline parking lot. I just planned to skin up Palmer and test out some new gear I had acquired during the fall (including my Black Diamond Whippet, Mountain Hardwear Direttessima 46 pack, and Scarp F1 boots). However, when I arrived in the parking lot, I ran into Mark and Mike, two old ski buddies who I had not seen in a few years. They were summit-bound, along with a few members of Portland Mountain Rescue, and they invited me along. The weather was clear and sunny, with a light breeze. Conditions were perfect, so I agreed to join them.

We were hooked up with a free lift ride to the top of Palmer, which allowed us to bypass the 2500 foot slog along the ski area. At around 11:00 am, we began our climb. The snow was icy and hard. Recent warm temperatures and rain had created horrendous rime and ice formations on the snow surface. Everyone but me left their skis just above the Palmer snowfield. I, however, was stubborn and hopeful that the snow quality would improve, so I loaded my skis on my pack, and continued upward. 

Climbing into the Pearly Gates (Credit: Mark Johnson)

We reached the Hogsback at around 12:30pm. The sun was warm, but the snow remained cold and firm. We debated between ascending the West Crater/Old Chute route (which has become the route of choice over the last few years) and the Pearly Gates (a steeper, narrower, but more direct route to the summit). Neither Mark nor I had been up the Pearly Gates, so that's the route we opted to climb. 

The Pearly Gates route ascends directly above the Hogsback, and then continues up the left chute at the fork. It is quite steep, and for the past few years, the climb has been complicated by the formation of a nearly vertical ice shelf. Mark bravely free-climbed the vertical section, balancing between rotten ice on one side, and chossy rock on the other. He set a picket above the shelf, and proceeded to belay the rest of the group through the Pearly Gates, and up onto the snowfield that sits just below the summit. There was limited rock and icefall in the chute as we ascended. We reached the summit around 2:00pm.

Things didn't get interesting until we began our descent. We decided to descend the West Crater route, which is more open, and provides an easier descent. To get there from the summit, you traverse along the summit ridge for about 300 yards. In the springtime, the ridge is wide and the traverse is protected and easy. However, we were there early season, and the ridge line was knifes edge sharp, and exposed on both sides. One by one, we slowly traversed the narrow route. Once we were all safely above the West Crater route, the group began to descend. 

I anchored my pack on my ice tool, and began the process of putting on my skis: a process where nothing seemed to go right. The first gear failure was that my new F1s refused to engage with the pins on my Dynafits. It took half an hour of gingerly pressing my toe into the binding before I was finally able to lock both skis down. By that time, the rest of the group was most of the way down to Crater Rock. In the process of clipping into my skis, I blew out one of the shims that I had installed on the skis in order prevent the bellows on the F1s from flexing while in ski mode--second gear failure. The third failure occurred when I tried to change my right boot from walk mode to ski mode. As I pressed the lever down, I blew out the top buckle on the boot. You know, the one that allows you to transfer power to your skis. I quickly solved that with a ski strap and I was on my way... or so I thought. 

I was one jump turn in on the bulletproof, 45+ degree slope when I knew this was going to be a long, terrifying ski down. The soft flex of the F1s, combined with a shim-less ski and icy snow, gave me almost no control. Jump turn, sideslip 50 feet; jump turn, sideslip 50 feet. With the fumeroles fuming below, I was pretty damn uncomfortable.  However, this was my first run with my whippet, and never have I been more thankful to have a single piece of gear. While I never needed to use the whippet for self arrest, I knew that it might be the only thing between me and a slide for life in the event that I fell. Luckily I didn't fall. 

After a few more hair raising jump turns, I joined the rest of the group on top of the Hogsback. Thankful the West Crater descent was behind me, I continued to ski down past Devil's Kitchen. That's when I hit the rime snow that I had hoped would soften during the climb. It hadn't. I accepted that the snow was as close to unskiable as snow gets, and with a lump in my throat, I reattached my skis to my pack, and began the slow walk down. 

I hate walking down mountains. Even more, I hate walking down mountains with snow on them. Walking down Mt. Hood, I realized I wasn't a climber. Without the thought of bringing my skis up, I never would have agreed to attempt the summit. So, as I walked down Mt. Hood, I cursed the icy rime and snowless weather that was preventing me from skiing. But I realized, as I walked, the only thing worse than walking down a mountain with snow, would be walking down the mountain with snow and without skis. 

As the sun sank low on the horizon, we regrouped above the Palmer snowfield. We each stepped into our skis, and began our final ski descent (all together now) toward our glistening cars in the parking lot far below. 

Was it the worst ski day ever? Arguably. Was it a great climb? Absolutely. Did I (re)learn some important lessons about humility, gear, and the respect a mountain commands? Without a doubt. I am sure I will learn a few more lessons before too long. In the meantime, pray for snow. We need it.