Illumination Rock in December.

(returning from my trip to illumination rock)

After doing the Paradise Park trail in the snow last week and breaking out of the trees just under Mississippi Head to a great view of the top 5000 feet of Mt. Hood, I was inspired by the sight of its upper peaks, and decided to get the ice gear I needed to start working my trips a little further up the mountain. We had been having unusually clear weather for December in the Cascades, and beginning a week prior, the forecast looked especially good for Sunday. With a wary eye on the forecasts for changing conditions, I tentatively planned to make my first climb above the Palmer lift to Illumination rock. I discussed my plan with friends, and even arranged to go up with a buddy, but concerns about often dangerous and rapidly changing winter conditions on the mountain ultimately sidelined him until spring. Undeterred, I chose to go up the mountain alone the following day.

In the morning, I hit the road out of Portland about an hour before sunrise. After making a few stops for gas, snacks, and a sno-park permit for my car, I was in the timberline lodge parking lot by 8:00, suiting up for the trudge up Mt. Hood's south side. The first part of any climb from the south approach is just getting above the resort's upper ski areas. The lodge itself sits at 5960', but two lifts continue up the mountain from there, with the second topping out at 8540'. There were two ways to clear the ski area on this trip; paying to take a sno-cat ride up to the top of the Palmer glacier, or hiking up on foot in it's compressed tracks. Illumination saddle, at the base of the formation, tops out at about 9300', and although it is a nice glacial traverse to the west from the rest of the peaks (and the ski area), it would be impossible to justify knocking 2580' off a 3340' climb by hitching a ride up the mountain, so I chose to go by foot. It appeared that about half those on the mountain took the easy route, although most of them were just looking for access to the top of the ski area, and climbed no further.

(The view from the base of the climb. The top of the lift sits a couple miles and 2840' up slope. Illumination rock sits another 760 feet up slope and far enough to the west that it's not visible in this photo. The included peaks, from left to right, are Castle Crags, Crater Rock, and the Steel Cliffs.)

(This photo is taken from above the Silcox Hut, looking south west)

(Looking south at Mt. Jefferson with the Sisters making an appearance in the distance.)

At the top of the Palmer lift, I stopped to eat some lunch and take in the changing views to the south. The small plateau at the top of the lift serves as a staging area where climbers prepare to ascend above the groomed hiker's path, and skiers and snowboarders prepare for their descents. The area was also popular with the local ravens, which looked accustomed to being fed by hikers and climbers, and eager to accept handouts. While I ate, I watched a group of three men proceed from the lift area in the direction I was to head. They lost traction immediately and had to stop to affix their crampons before proceeding across the ice.

(mountain hoagie)

(friendly raven)

When I finished eating, I unstrapped my ice axe, and began my own traverse across the glacier toward illumination rock. The first section was very slick indeed, and consisted of thick ice-coated rocks that were difficult to gain purchase on with my crampons or axe. Once over this rocky area however, the footing improved and I was able to move a bit faster. After a very short time, the topography settled into a more gradual slope and illumination rock came into full view in the distance. As I traversed this section, I experienced a few strong gusts of wind that came unexpectedly from the direction of the saddle. When the gusts came through, I drove my axe down hard, got low, and waited a moment for them to pass before proceeding. A good distance above me, another climber was also moving west toward the saddle. I observed him remove his pack for a moment to take a break when one of these gusts came through. It managed to dislodge some piece of his gear and sent it sliding down slope. I was far enough from the fall line to ever make out what it was, but its several thousand foot fall out of view served as a reminder of the consequences of losing traction on this icy surface.

(illumination rock comes in to view)

(crater rock)

(castle crags)

Eventually, I made my way up to my final destination, Illumination Saddle. I stopped for some photos of the rock, and then climbed up toward the spine to see the views to the northwest of the mountain, which had previously been obstructed. From the top, Mt. Saint Helens was clearly visible on the horizon. I stayed long enough for a couple of photos, but the strong winds and my lack of confidence in the snow that made up the cornice I had been seated on sent me back down the way I had come shortly after. From here, I contemplated moving further up the mountain toward crater rock, but eventually decided to save that peak for a future climb.

(illumination rock viewed from the northeast)

(illumination rock from the north)

(the view from illumination rock, looking northwest, with Mt. Saint Helens on the horizon)

(Mt. Saint Helens, closer)

From this point, I turned around and went back the way I had come. Progress was much faster on the descent, and the surface of the glacier had softened considerably in most spots, which allowed for better footing. What had taken me 3.5 hours to ascend took me 2 hours to descend, and before I knew it, I was back on the parking lot, loading my gear into the Honda.

(a raven flying down slope)

(I can't believe this thing is still running)

(three and half hours up, two hours down, and another eighteen minutes to the nearest brewery)

paradise park trail in winter

I've gotten to the point where a week isn't complete without some sort of physical challenge, and this week was no exception. I've been trying to cover some new ground, and lately the pickin's have been slim (at least on paper) with nearby territory that can trump anything I've recently hiked. I finally settled on the Paradise Park trail for my latest trek. It was 1000-2000 feet less vertical gain than what I've been doing recently, but it was still listed among the most difficult day hikes in the region, and I've also seen it listed as "unhikable" after October, so I thought it might offer a good workout a few day's before the first of December.

And it did.



The day started with a drive out to the paradise park trail head; a small lot off of road 39, to the north of highway 26, between zigzag and government camp. While the road was paved and plowed, the parking area was covered in thick ice and snow, and there was no other option for parking; so I backed my honda in as carefully as I could to keep the drive wheels close to the pavement. I still got stuck almost immediately, but backing in meant it would be less trouble to dig myself out later. Remembering the post-dusk finish of my last hike, I decided to dig out before hitting the trail so I wouldn't have to struggle with it in the dark if it took me a while to return.

And it did.

Once the car looked like it should be operable later, it was time to hike. I wasn't sure what to expect since I had never been here before, and the conditions were less than "favorable", but I quickly realized that an attempt to hike the trail at this time of year wasn't unheard of, and I was able to follow previous tracks well enough to reach the turnoff for the first switchback.

It was a warm day compared to the rest of the recent season so far, and while the snow started at the trail head and only got deeper with increased elevation, everything was dripping, and heavy chunks of snow and slush were dropping from the sagging limbs of firs the whole way, making forceful thuds against the cold wet earth the whole ascent to the treeline.



Switchback after switchback, the terrain didn't change much. Dripping firs made up the canopy with abundant rhododendrons clustered anywhere the sun could penetrate. At about 2 miles however, the snowshoe tracks I had been following stopped, and I realized that I had surpassed the furthest recent efforts of any trek on this trail. While the hiking became more difficult making first tracks on this deep wet snow, I was excited to push forward into virgin territory. The depth I sank into the snow varied from mid-calf to knee height in the coming stretches, and while each step became more of a battle, I managed to find a comfortable rhythm, and kept on keepin' on.



The majority of this hike was rather monotonous, without any major landmarks to break up the landscape. That's not to say it wasn't gorgeous to take in, but with the exception of two small creeks and their accompanying foot bridges, if you had seen one mile, you had seen them all.



A short distance after the second creek however, the trail took it's first long winding turn around a new ridge, and I caught fleeting glimpses of the far wall of Mt. Hood's zigzag canyon between the trees. It had been a laborious trudge to get this far in the ever-deeper snow, but that crisp white feature acted sufficiently as the proverbial dangling carrot to keep me in stride. As it turns out however, breaking from the treeline to see the mountain's impressive upper slopes was still a significant effort, and the small teases I got early on turned out to be just that.



By this time, the grade had become significantly steeper, the trail became much harder to follow, and I had been sinking in to my thigh, and occasionally my waist, on any step I hadn't taken just light enough. At this stage, each step could be a struggle, but I was motivated by the energy I had invested, and the feeling that what I had come for might be just around the next bend.




Like my previous hike, I had worked out the time I'd need to turn around to get back to my car by nightfall, but as with my last hike, I ended up being too stubborn to heed my own planning, and pushed on to claim the prize I spent the day seeking, regardless of the consequences. I knew I had a headlamp, and I should be able to follow my tracks back to the car with that after dark, so on I pushed.





Still, as I continued to climb, doubts sunk in, and when I came near the ridge of my side of the canyon, I pushed off trail to see what I could see in case I wasn't successful in reaching the top of my trail by sundown. From here, I was rewarded with a glimpse of one of the mountain's spires to the north, and a great view of Mt. Jefferson to the south. After taking some photos, and sitting still enough to let the cold really sink in, I donned my vest and continued uphill.




From the research I had done about the trail previously, I knew that once I crossed the Pacific Crest Trail, it wouldn't be long before I reached my goal. Unfortunately, the snow depth no longer hinted at the presence of the trails beneath it's blanket, so I just pushed upward, hoping I'd recognize the intersection when I came to it.






With a little luck, I found the markers about 15 yards from where I had found myself, and once again became confident with my push up slope. From here, it was the shortest, but most difficult section of ascent, but eventually I saw a break in the trees, and followed it until I had emerged from the timberline; just in time to see the last of the day's sun shining on Mt. Hood's snow capped peaks. I celebrated my victory and shot photos from the stunning view point, but as I looked south, I could see that the sun was about to dip below the distant mountains, and that it was time to make haste for the trail head. I made it no further than the trees before I realized it would be a long and dark hike back to safety.





I wish there were more to report about this section of the hike, but in another way, I'm happy to report that it was uneventful. I broke out my headlamp, contacted who I needed to as a contingency plan if I didn't make it out as expected, and then just walked down.




My car ended up being stuck again when I got to the lot, but with a little kicking and scraping and tire spinning, I was back on asphalt, and not too much longer after that, at 7-11, buying beer.

Wyeth to green point ridge in the snow.

I've had the same cycle for the past few years: hike from late spring to early autumn - getting into increasingly better condition as the season progresses, and then as the falling leaves become falling rain, and the falling rain becomes falling snow, I shut myself in like a bear for the winter. Unlike the bear however, who spends the winter losing weight, I've always ended up just losing condition, and while the bear emerges in the spring looking svelt, I begin the new hiking season soft and weak, desperately trying to get back what I had.

Not this time around.

There were several reasons I used to stop when I did, but I think the biggest was that I just wasn't properly equipped to be in the elements comfortably. A few small upgrades to your gear list goes a long way, and after a quick stop to REI this weekend to make some last minute upgrades to my hiking arsenal, I was out in the woods making first tracks on the Wyeth Trail.

All the new gear got thoroughly tested on this 9.5 hour 4400 vertical foot climb in knee deep snow, and I was pleased with it all, but the best upgrade ended up being one of the cheapest. I'll never go in the snow without gaiters again. About three quarters of the hike was in deep snow and there were a few stream crossings, but when the voyage was complete, I kicked off my shoes to find bone-dry socks. Managing moisture is the key to being comfortable on any hike, but it's especially important when you're facing extended periods in subfreezing temps.


The day began before dawn. There's so little sunlight in the pacific northwest in the winter that a late start means a dark finish. With my gear packed, and a little food and coffee in my system, I found myself heading east on the 84 while the sun was still struggling to come up over the Cascades. The strong silhouette of Mt. Hood on the horizon, combined with the crisp white outline of Mt. Saint Helens to the north had me hopeful about clear skies and great views from the top of the ridge, but as I got closer to the trail head, so did the clouds. Those are the breaks. The Wyeth trail head is at the back of the Wyeth campgrounds, which have been closed for the year for quite some time. I made a call to the Columbia River Gorge Scenic Area offices to inquire about day use, and was told that parking on the side of the road outside the gates was fine without a northwest forest pass, and that since I didn't have access to the trail head with my car, that the day use fees were waived. So, by 8:00 am, there was a little old Honda sitting outside the gates, and I was on the trail.


The Wyeth trail is one of three options that come together just beyond the trail head. It cuts to the left up a small hill, passes under high tension lines from the Bonneville Dam, crosses a stream, and then just goes up... and up - 4000 feet within the first 4 miles to the junction to Green Point Ridge. The first patches of snow appeared around 1000 feet, but it didn't become consistent until closer to 1500. The first patches revealed that no one else had been on the trail since the snow started. It was nice to know I was alone.


Shortly after, the trail presented plenty of evidence that I wasn't completely alone. Animals make good company though, and I really enjoyed the opportunity to see just how alive the Gorge is through the tracks left in the fresh snow. Most of the larger animals in the area do a good job staying out of sight, so it's easy to start thinking of it as a baron place during the warmer months, but the snow revealed a lot. First, there were tracks from deer. Big deer, small deer, walking deer, and running deer.

A little further up I found these. I assumed they were bear tracks because I'd seen plenty of bear scat in the area in autumn. There are a lot of berries in the area to fatten up on. The tracks showed the bear had come up the hill, paced back and forth a few times over some deer tracks, and then went back from where he had come. It turns out that bear tracks have five toes and leave claw prints. It's mountain lions with four toes and retractable claws. I should have retained more from 7 years in scouts...



As I continued the climb, there were many signs of a forest in transition: brightly colored lichens and leaves that had yet to fall with snow clinging to them, fungus supporting icicles, and the tips of long grasses just barely protruding from the white blanket - reminding me of a person struggling to keep his head above rising waters.

Climbing higher still, I entered a zone where winter had taken a firmer hold, and the reds, yellows, and oranges gave way to grayscale, highlighted only with cool blues when the sun made a brief appearance from behind the clouds. The snow was getting considerably deeper, and I strapped my gaiters on for the first time to help keep dry. In the higher elevations the trail became harder to follow. Occasionally it went into hiding, and without GPS, I was forced to guess at where it was going, only hoping to be rewarded by a cut log or some other sign of trail maintenance to confirm my suspicions.

As the snow got deeper, I began to wonder if I was going to be able to make it to the top. I know from past hikes that once the snow gets too high on your thighs, it's just not worth it to go on - and even if it is, it takes a lot of valuable time to negotiate, and with the short days, I risked getting stuck over night if I spent too long trudging through it. Eventually though, I came to a familiar feature: the top of Wyeth ridge.


On a previous hike, I had photographed myself on the ridge, so on this trip I decided to do the same. The trail on the top of the ridge is short. It heads west a bit before turning south and dropping down to North Lake. Just before the drop to the lake is the cut-off to continue climbing up to green point ridge. This was the beginning of the first section of trail I hadn't previous explored in any other season. The hill was steep, and the snow was deep, but at this point I was well into a rhythm, and kept a steady pace of one foot in front of the other in a meditative trance to the top. There was no longer any trail to be found, and I had given up looking, so my new strategy was just to keep pointed "up". Regardless of how far from my target I'd end up, there was only one set of tracks on the ridge, and I knew I could follow them all the way back to familiar territory when I was ready.



Progress in this section was slow. I had told myself that I had to turn around, no matter where I was, by 1:00 so I could get out of the woods before dark. I knew I was close to the summit of Green Point Mountain however, and my stubbornness not to quit a job before it was done kept me pushing on until 3:00. Technically I did summit the "mountain", but I still left feeling defeated - having not found the picturesque clearing I had seen photos of that, on a better day, would have offered a stunning view of Mt. Hood and the surrounding land, which had been my target for an end point. After backtracking a bit, I saw something maybe 20 yards away through the gaps in the trees that was clearly man made.


Just below the summit, is a little used and rarely maintained trail called Gorton Creek. Other than the trail marker, there was no evidence of any trail under the snow, but finding the sign was good, as it confirmed I had actually made it to what's called Green Point Mountain (but is actually a barely higher point of a long high ridge). From here I followed my tracks back down the way I had come. I took big strides in a controlled slide down the steep hill of high powder, knowing I was way behind schedule to reach my car before dark. Slowly but surely, I did make my way down the steep wall of the gorge. The sun was falling fast, and by dusk, I was still in the snow.

I knew the "bear" tracks where close to 1500 feet, and after that, the snow was thin enough not impede the speed of descent. Then, all of the sudden, there they were: the same tracks from before... but something was different. There weren't this many before - at least not that I had noticed. I paid extra attention to the tracks, and clapped my hands loudly a few times to announce my presence. On a previous hike on Mt. Hood, a group I was hiking with surprised a mother bear with a cub by approaching to quietly. I wanted to give this one some warning. Within a few feet I saw something that confirmed my suspicion: a set of these tracks that where formed on top of one of my tracks from the way up. The animal had been back, and it was last headed in the direction I was to go. I followed the tracks forward for too many yards, but finally they descended down the hill off the trail. At this point it was dark. I had a head lamp with me, so I put it on and continued the descent to my car over the next 45 minutes or so without too much difficulty.