A love letter to the Cascades, Part 2: Going home again

After many years away, I made a number of trips to my old hometown of Portland, Oregon, now a grownup city that has come into a reluctant spotlight for its coffee, beer, and restaurant scene, mixed in with the quirkiness and weirdness that the PNW is known for. It is far different from the city known for its lumber industry that went bust in the 1980s. While it's been scarred by a persistent homeless problem and a downtown still damaged by the protests in 2020, it is still home to me in many ways. Like most places, home is associated with good and bad experiences and memories, and for me, my formative years in Portland were not the most happy of times. So I rarely returned as an adult, until recently.

The Cascades have always had this pull, being this 500+ mile chain of really really big volcanoes that just tower over everything. Despite being lower than the Colorado 14ers, they rise over a mile from their surroundings, and being the first major mountain range that sees the numerous Pacific storms, they get hammered by the elements, get a lot of snowfall, and carry extensive systems of glaciers. I grew up seeing the silhouette of Mt. Hood on the horizon with its distinct profile, and from the higher elevations of Portland, it's possible to see St. Helens, Rainier, Adams, Hood, and Jefferson on a clear day. Climbing the Cascade peaks, in my opinion, is a step up from the Colorado 14ers. Most are technical peaks, involve some degree of glacier travel, and are mountaineering experiences. I wrote earlier about my June 2019 climb of Mt. Rainier, and here is the second part of my story on the Cascades.

Top of Oregon: Mt. Hood via Old Chute

I got in reasonable aerobic condition in 2021, with regular hike / snowboard combos in the Sangres near my home. Since May and June are still a transitional time in the Rockies, I spent a few weekends in the Cascades and made several trips to Portland. I had also finally received my Moderna doses and was very much in the mood to travel as much as possible after being largely locked down in 2020.

Previously I had attempted Hood with Timberline Mountain Guides back in May 2019, but turned back at the crater due to weather. Adam the guide was doing it probably for the 100th time, and he had the route memorized. After he did a check of the snow conditions, he determined that conditions had deteriorated, with avalanche potential, so we hustled down. I had stored my snowboard and boots near the lift station, and very carefully managed my way down on an icy groomer with the wind nearly blowing me to a halt.

About all the visibility we got the first time around

Human popsicle, after several hours of snow, freezing fog, and wind

It was time to try again, but the trips were all booked and I was faced with a solo trip on an unfamiliar mountain with limited snow climbing experience. So it was FB to the rescue. I hooked up with some random people on FB (not always a good idea) and went up the Old Chute route on Mt. Hood, a challenging snow climb, especially the very steep last 1000 feet, complete with a volcano spewing steam and gases, firm snow, and a short knife edge. It was hard, one mile vertical of climbing in about 3.5 miles, made even worse on 30 minutes of sleep. So I met up with three others at around 11 PM, after trying in vain to get some sleep. But alas, life pulls you forward, and I awkwardly strapped on my crampons, which I bought in late 2019 and had never used, and walked out to the start of the route. It’s a freeway that parallels the edge of the ski area. On this clear night, there was already a string of headlamps pointing the way towards the peak.

The day before the climb, the mountain looking oh so pretty

The weekends are very busy, with easily as many people as Quandary on a summer weekend, but with far more objective dangers. It’s steep, it’s icy, there are random crevasses, a bergschrund, a knife edge, and you’re crossing a volcanic crater that’s still spewing steam and blowing gas. The top of the routes increases in grade to about 35-45 degrees, and I found it to be the most challenging part of the entire climb. Everything below the crater (Devil’s Kitchen) is straightforward, I was mostly fighting the cold weather, tiredness, and hauling up a snowboard. I stashed the board somewhere above the top chairlift, and continued with a much lighter load on my back.

Busy weekend morning, but what a view of Mt. Jefferson and the Sisters in the haze

The views of Jefferson and the Sisters were amazing as the sun rose, as was the very long shadow of Hood cast over the Willamette Valley, framed by the hot rocks and gases spewing out from the crater. I was so exhausted that I laid down on the snow and took a (very cold) nap for a good half hour. But it started to finally warm up, and I was again good to go, ascending left of the crater towards the snow dune known as the Hogsback. The Hogsback is a moving feature that in recent years has been aligned with the Pearly Gates, which form a Y. The Pearly Gates are two rather icy, narrow, steep chutes with near direct access to the summit, but involve crossing a bergschrund that was getting sketchy. There was also a line of about 100 people waiting to go up there, so I made a quick change of plans and decided to head further over and go up the Old Chute. Part of the route crosses a section of permanently snow-free rock, and along with the steaming vents and odor of rotten eggs, it's clear that the Cascades are still active volcanoes.

Brief traverse from the Hogsback to the Old Chute

The mountain casting its very long shadow towards the Portland metro

Ascending the Old Chute

This is where my partners separated, they wanted to avoid the knife edge at the top of the Old Chute, and ended up going up the alternate Mazama Chute. So I was now on my own, and I guess the only thing going through my head was to trust my crampons and ice axe and take it one steep step at a time. There was very little traffic on the Old Chute and it was a bit creepy, even though I was within sight of the crowds going up the Pearly Gates.

Old Chute knife edge, snowy and icy, but peanuts compared to the Capitol knife edge

After a few hundred feet of climbing on what must have been a 40 degree slope, kicking in steps, digging in my ice axe, and repeating this over and over, I finally topped out on the ridge. It's rather narrow, maybe 40-50 feet wide, and the views finally opened up to the north, with St. Helens, Rainier, and Adams easily visible. Now came the knife edge section, which was indeed exposed, but pretty overrated in my opinion. It was no longer than about 50 feet in length, but was a bit awkward to be walking that sort of exposure in crampons. Beyond that it was a quick dash to the summit to meet up with my 50+ closest friends. I had finally reached the top of Oregon.

Top of Oregon!

I descended the same way, opting for carefully plunge-stepping my way down the Old Chute. One guy decided to ski it, despite being pretty cut up and still a bit hardpack. He regretted it almost immediately, as one of his skis released and went like a projectile right into the crater. This same route turned deadly shortly afterwards, as a 63 year old climber died in a fall a few weeks later. I remember the 1986 climbing accident that took the lives of nine students and teachers from the Oregon Episcopal School, in a tragic case of poor planning, bad weather, and questionable decisions. Then there was the incident in 2002, when a rescue helicopter crashed during an operation to retrieve injured and deceased climbers who had fallen into a crevasse. It's a deadly peak, tantalizingly close to the 2.5 million of the Portland metro, and looming just above the busy slopes of Timberline and Meadows ski areas.

On the Hogsback looking towards the summit

Looking back towards the summit, with the crater in the foreground

I got back to where I had left my snowboard, and shaved off plenty of time on the descent. It's awkward riding down with all the weight on your back. After getting back down to Timberline Lodge, I headed straight back to Portland for the requisite food and beer, 'cause you know, Portland.

The Shining. Hollywood aside, Timberline Lodge is a beautifully designed, hand-carved structure, one of those New Deal era projects that has become synonymous with Mt. Hood.

I was very lucky with the weather. Coming from out of town, it's difficult to travel on short notice, so it's really a crapshoot with the weather. While Hood is normally done in a long day, climbs like Rainier are often planned far in advance, and there's a good chance of inclement conditions. In general, the Cascades are not known for stable conditions. Mt. Hood is a good entry-level mountaineering experience, and with some basic training in use of crampons and ice axe, and some practice in self-arrest skills (all taught in the Timberline Mountain Guides two-day program), it's within the reach of many. The vertical is still pretty significant, being a vertical mile from Timberline Lodge to the summit, and the last third of the climb should not be taken lightly. Despite its low elevation compared to Colorado, the conditions are pretty harsh up here. It's best climbed from May to July, after that the rockfall hazard and snow instability is significant. After that the higher peaks of the Cascades like Adams and Rainier are in prime condition.

Mt. St. Helens via Worm Flows (winter route)

Two weeks later I snagged a permit for Mt. St. Helens. Access is pretty heavily restricted due to issues with erosion of the slopes, so it's a rather difficult permit to secure. Climbing St. Helens is considerably easier than Hood, despite being even more vertical. And, there’s something to be said for summiting an active volcano and standing at the edge of the crater listening to the constant rockfall. Prior to the eruption, it was a symmetrical peak that was among the most beautiful in the Cascades, and better known as a weekend camping and fishing destination. Its shape earned it the moniker as the "Fuji of the Americas".

Here's some historical photographs, from various sources. The one below was taken by Ray Atkeson, who was one of Oregon's legendary photographers, and also one of the pioneers of ski-related photographs from the 1930s to the 1960s. Others were drawn from the USGS, NPS and other governmental archives.

Spirit Lake and Mt. St. Helens before the eruption, photo by Ray Atkeson. Photo source: The Ray Atkeson Image Archive, https://around.uoregon.edu/content/ray-atkeson

May 17, 1980. USGS, photo by Harry Glicken.

Well, one day in March 1980, the mountain awoke once again, signaled by a swarm of earthquakes, and then the appearance of a small crater and a puff of ash that darkened the brilliant white snowcap with a gray dusting. This was always the most active of the Cascade volcanoes, in part due to its rather unusual location- if you draw a line up and down the major peaks of the Cascades, Baker - Glacier Peak - Rainier - Hood - Jefferson, etc. Mt. St. Helens lies quite a bit west of all of them, and the mountain has had regular eruptive periods, which built it to its previous height of 9677 feet (2950 m).

In the lead up to the May 18, 1980 eruption, the north flank had bulged quickly, around 2 meters per day, so it was clear that there was instability and the presence of a magma bubble. At 8:32 AM, a 5.1 earthquake triggered a landslide and an eruption that lasted for hours and coated a significant portion of the US in ash. I had witnessed the 1980 eruption on that sunny Sunday morning, and 41 years later, I had the chance to climb it. Portland, which was upwind of the prevailing winds, was coated in several inches of gray ash. If you dig down a few inches in any backyard, there's going to be a small layer of ash.

From Mt. Adams, Photo: John V. Christiansen. Turns out the photographer was a world-renowned structural engineer who designed the Kingdome and was a member of the National Academy of Engineering. BIO.

And from Mt. Rainier. NPS photo.

Ash cloud a few minutes later. NPS photo.

The statistics, as oft repeated as they are, still leave me in awe. The largest landslide ever caught on film. One of the costliest natural disasters in US history. 70 % of the mountain's glaciers instantly melted. Millions of trees toppled by the force of the landslide and eruption. 1300 feet shorter in a matter of seconds. 0.6 cubic miles displaced. 520 million tons of ash spewed worldwide.

The before and after, USGS report (https://www.usgs.gov/volcanoes/mount-st.-helens/glaciation-mount-st-helens). The "Timberline" refers to the old Timberline parking lot, which was the standard ascent route before the eruption. Spirit Lake is to the north (top of the figure).

It was also a fascinating example of recovery, much of it unexpected. The landslide and eruption pushed Spirit Lake up 200 feet from the debris that washed in there, including millions of trees, and remained hot for many months, turning it from a rather nutrient poor lake into a primordial stew. This meant much less oxygen in the water, and so initially it was anaerobic organisms that could grow in there. As they died and became nutrients, the lake became a pretty messy stew of organic matter. The temperature eventually cooled, and aerobic growth once again took hold, and today it is a stable lake once more, though with still lots of dead tree logs still floating around.

The summer route, starting at the Climber's Bivouac, doesn't get going until mid-summer, so for winter and spring climbs, you start at around 2600 feet elevation, following the Worm Flows route from the Marble Mountain Sno-Park. It's a trail for about half of the distance, and from there, it was a straightforward ascent on snow, kind of zigzagging up towards the horizon. I won't get too much into the details, except that the usual crampons / ice axe / poles are very helpful. The actual summit is visible from the crater rim, and an extra quarter mile of a walk. I had a plane to catch later in the afternoon, so there wasn't quite enough time to head over there. I topped out at the crater rim, which was mostly silent except for the sound of rockfall. The cornice is not a good place to hang out or get too close to, but I got a bit closer and snapped a couple of pictures of the crater, which remains active to this day. In the old days, the primary ascent route was from the northern side, just a bit past the resorts at Spirit Lake. These days the crater is off-limits and a pretty hazardous area with constant rockfall, toxic gases and steam still emanating from the crater, and in a strange twist of geology, the world's youngest glacier. Ironically, in May 2023, a landslide caused by record temperatures in the Pacific Northwest again cut off access to the northern side of the mountain.

View of the summit from the crater rim, with a hazardous cornice

The crater is still constantly steaming. Out of sight is the crater glacier that has formed on either side of the dome. Spirit Lake is in the background, and if you look closely there are still dead logs from the 1980 eruption along the west (left) shore. Mt. Rainier is the big boy in the distance.

Looking east to Mt. Adams

South Sister

I returned to Oregon in early July, drove down the coast that I only vaguely remembered from when I was a kid, and got another coveted permit to hike South Sister, Oregon's third tallest peak. On my way inland from Crescent City, CA, I made a stop in Crater Lake on my way up to Bend. Crater Lake is the remnant of Mt. Mazama, and if you thought the Mt. St. Helens eruption was big, this one was massive. About 7000 years ago, a major eruption took about 4000 feet off the top of Mazama, displacing 18 cubic miles of material, with some of the stuff ending up in Greenland. The lake is the deepest in the US, and holds some of the clearest water.

Originally I was intending to do a hike of Mt. Scott, the high point within the park, but wildfire smoke curtailed those plans. It's unfortunately a fact of life these days that the climate is changing and the ecosystems are stressed. Crater Lake, normally this place of pristine skies and pristine water, was not looking so pretty.

Looking towards Mt. Scott. Just an awful day out there.

About as clear as it got, for just a couple of minutes.

So I left early and drove up to Bend, got my requisite beer and a nice bowl of ramen, then got ready for my main hiking goal of this trip, which was to climb South Sister. This was a hike that was half wide freeway, before an exhausting scramble up a loose slope of volcanic scree. It's a trail all the way, just really loose. The top was truly special, though, as there were two small lakes from snowmelt sitting in the crater, and the view stretched all the way north to Mt. Adams in Washington, 140 miles distant. It’s truly one of the great views in the world, showcasing the amazing geology of the region and the violent origins of the Cascades. Luckily the air was a lot better, and the visibility was decent.

Looking south. Most of the trail up South Sister is this unpleasant volcanic scree. Mt. Bachelor is the prominent peak on the left, and there's the endless expanse of cinder cones and shield volcanoes. The pretty turquoise lake, Moraine Lake, is reputed to be toxic.

Oregon's highest lake, visual relief from all the loose reddish volcanic rock.

Chilling out at the summit of South Sister. Thank you, La Sportiva. The five tallest peaks in Oregon are in this picture (South Sister, Middle Sister, North Sister, Jefferson, Hood), and if you look very closely, Mt. Adams, 140 miles away, is barely visible.

I made my slow way back to Portland, via the McKenzie Pass highway, which is just an awesome road, fun to drive, mixed with some of America's finest scenery. This narrow, curving highway was once the main access route between the southern Willamette Valley and central Oregon. It skirts a recent lava flow, which is only about 1500 years old, younger than the Roman Empire, and around the same age as Istanbul's Hagia Sophia. The whole area around Bend is a textbook of geology. South Sister is a stratovolcano, much like Mt. St. Helens, though dormant, and the lava flows in the vicinity are from eruptions of shield volcanoes, Belknap Crater, Mt. Washington, and Newberry Volcano among them. The popular Blue Pool gets its color from the McKenzie River disappearing into, and getting filtered through a lava flow. It's just a remarkable landscape unlike anywhere else. From the air it looks like a giant buffalo chip.

The tortured landscape of McKenzie Pass. Big peak on left is Mt. Washington, a shield volcano despite its pointy top. Peak left of center is Mt. Jefferson.

Blue Pool, Oregon.

And here's a bit more of the Oregon experience, it's got the natural scenery in droves, and lots of innovative, quirky food and drink.

Neskowin ghost forest, rediscovered in 1998. These are 2000 year old sitka spruce stumps that were killed by sudden geological changes, likely the result of seismic activity.

Best part of the Oregon Coast, with the requisite fog and drizzle. US 101 between Florence and Waldport.

A Portland institution. You can get your fill in Denver Airport though.

Clam chowder binge, #5. Kind of like the brewery tour of Portland.

I flew out of Portland after a magical week touring around the state. There's still tons of places I haven't visited, including the whole Great Basin region, and lots of places that I've been to but are fading from my memory. Hopefully I'll have the chance to return and rediscover these places.

I was soon back in the southern Rockies, and had my sights set on finishing the Colorado 14ers, which is in another TR.