Smashmouth Allstars Summit Hood

Our party of three arrived at Timberline Lodge in Patrick’s van on the evening of May 30, 2022. The Hood crew consisted of myself, my friend Patrick from Portland, and my friend Denver from Denver. It was dark with only the glow of a few lodge lights, and the anticipation was palpable. By the time we got our bags packed with food and supplies and had a look around, we had about three hours to sleep before the big day began. At 9pm, trying to sleep, the three of us ended up singing loudly every word to Smash Mouth’s jam “Allstar”. With that out of our system, we again attempted to sleep, but rest just wasn’t coming very easily to my anxious brain. 

Around midnight, Denver woke up and started getting prepped. By 12:30am, we were all out of bed, headlamps on, grabbing a quick pop tart or other bite to eat and making the final adjustments to our packs before setting off. About 1am on May 31, we started walking up the snowy mountain with several other groups by the light of our headlamps.

12:30am and ready to go!

We looked up, but couldn't see the stars, the moon, or anything else for that matter; there was a thick blanket of clouds resting between us and the upper atmosphere. Shortly thereafter, the sky started shooting icy tears in our direction and our packs and jackets were quickly covered with a frozen coating; but still we trudged along. After over 2,500ft of vertical gain in just a few miles, we reached the upper lift, the Palmer lift, situated at 8,540ft. We had hopes of going inside to avoid the elements for a while, and much to our surprise, the door was already open.

When we got inside, we found another group of climbers who were also taking shelter from the stormy conditions outside. The lift room was large, cold, and damp, it was lit only by the few headlamps that remained on on their dimmest setting. Determined to wait out the weather, we got onto a lift chair and huddled together. Each group that made their way up the mountain stopped to seek solace in the Palmer lift where they too got onto lift chairs and attempted to cuddle their way to warmth.

Lift chillin' (literally)

The ambiance in the Palmer lift that morning felt very post-apocalyptic. Each group that entered, looking and feeling ragged from the conditions outside, huddled together with hushed voices and headlamps. I wiggled my toes for the whole two hours we sat there, afraid of how cold they might get if I stopped. After those first two hours had passed, I got up to pee but I really wanted to avoid going outside if possible so I meandered around inside the building, hoping there might be a toilet for the liftees who tended the lift in the winter. 

I found groups of people huddled in corners, feeling colder and colder as I roamed around, and then I found the control room. The heated control room. As soon as I stepped inside, relief washed over my already- thawing body. There were about five people inside, and no lights were on, that was definitely by design. They put their fingers to their lips, motioning me to be quiet. I ran out to grab the boys. They were as excited as I was and I quickly fell into a warm, dreamy slumber. An hour later, after repeatedly checking the weather forecast and watching many groups descend back to the lodge, we defeatedly did the same. Descending inside a ping pong ball due to the extreme white out conditions, was certainly disappointing. It took about an hour to get back to the van, and around 8am we slept again.

Admitting defeat

I woke up at 10am to a frustrated Denver. He started talking about how now the whole mountain was visible, the incredible bluebird sky outside and the people he could see skiing on the mountain. I got up and looked, and to my amazement, found that he was spot on. I hesitantly asked if we should try again, reascend those 2,500+ft and make a bid for the summit. We talked it over for a few minutes and decided we’d kick ourselves if we didn’t try. So we woke up Patrick and explained our plan for a second attempt. He looked at us groggily and rather stupefied for a few minutes, but eventually found himself just as excited as we were.

By 11am, we were on route for a second attempt at the summit of Mt. Hood. We were elated, so overcome with joy at what marvelous luck we were having, from ping pong ball to bluebird in two hours, that we didn’t even care that we were ascending the same trail we had just gone up 10 hours earlier. We knew the weather might change again, but we were prepared to have to turn around once more, at least we would have given the mountain everything we had.

When we got back to the Palmer lift, we stopped inside to refuel and rehydrate. One of my favorite things to bring on a difficult hike these days is an electrolyte packet. I shared mine with Patrick and after our little rest, we set off, refreshed and ready for the summit bid. 

Patrick, the eternal caboose bringing up the rear

Cheesin' all day long

Conditions were so fantastic it was hard to believe that it was the same day as the miserable morning we had had. The sky was beautifully blue, temperatures were mild, and wind was low. The three musketeers kept trudging along in the snow, one foot at a time, sometimes singing songs like Smashmouth’s “Allstar” from the previous evening, and Ciara’s “1, 2 Step”. After gaining elevation for a while, we started to smell something pungently terrible, and that was our first sign of the progress that we were making. Although the smell was rancid, it was also our first scent of accomplishment. The Devil’s Kitchen, full of volcanic rock and sulfuric gasses, is the first milestone on the upper mountain. So as bad as it smelled, it lifted my spirits just that much more (if that was even possible). We donned crampons, helmets and ice axes, preparing for the mountain ahead.

We knew the next milestone was the Hogsback and as we rounded the next hill and saw it come into view, we were all shocked by the steepness of the spine. First you descend a little bit, and then you start climbing. An open bowl on both sides, the middle has a sharp spine, apparently similar to a hog’s back, that you must ascend in order to make your way to the Pearly Gates. We ascended slowly, it was quite possibly the steepest snow slope that any of us had climbed in our early mountaineering careers. The upper mountain is a sight to behold. With spires of snow-covered rock rising hundreds of feet into the air, with the iconic Hogsback cutting right through the middle of the open bowl, and the hot fumes wafting from the open volcanic pits. 

Hogsback!

Once up, we made a short traverse, and then ascended an even steeper, but shorter section that required our crampon front points to be engaged as well as our ice ax. This was very methodical and somewhat similar to ice climbing. Drive your ax in, move your crampons up a step, kick in, move your ax up again and lather, rinse, repeat. It’s very fluid, essentially your crampons make their own stairs, and I felt pretty comfortable ascending, but I voiced my slight hesitation for descending that section. Luckily, we had brought a short rope and harnesses, so we would just belay down it for extra protection and rope practice.

The next section was the Pearly Gates, named as such because of the tall, chiseled, icy walls that tower on both sides of you as you ascend the narrow passage. Since we had made our start much later than anticipated, and the sun was warming the ice, we were cautious of rock and ice fall, but luckily didn't have to experience any of that.

Once past the Pearly Gates, the terrain opened up again and after a short jaunt, we found ourselves on top of Oregon, at the summit of Mount Hood.

(quite possibly one of the coolest photos of me ever taken)

The three of us all grew up in Oregon and had been looking at that peak our whole lives; we couldn’t have been more thrilled to be standing on its summit.

summit selfieeeee!!

Due to the nature of mountaineering, being the only sport where you celebrate halfway through, the greatest danger was still ahead and although we were ecstatic to be at the summit, it wasn’t time to let our guards down just yet. The majority of mountaineering accidents occur on the descent so we knew we had a while until we could really celebrate our success. 

After breathing in that summit air and marveling at the fluffy, white, cauliflower clouds and green landscape far below us, we began to make our descent. We descended back through the Pearly Gates, and made our way back to the steep slope. Denver and I talked through the best way to descend here so we made a snow anchor utilizing two ice axes and Denver belayed Patrick down the slope. After unburying my ax, I went next. It felt so simple on a rope, and it probably would have been executed seamlessly without protection, but it definitely didn't hurt anything to have that extra safety net. 

At the end of the rope, I dug into a really solid arrest, in hopes that if Denver fell, I would be a strong enough anchor to catch his fall. After he descended about halfway, I took in slack and tied it off in a bite on a carabiner so that there would be less force in the system if he did take a tumble. Luckily, he did not, and we all made it down off the slope, I would say without a hitch, but I did use a munter hitch to tie him off. 

We descended the Hogsback nearly as slowly as we had ascended, being careful with our footing. Along that ridge we stopped many times to marvel at where we were, where we had been, and the miraculous views that surrounded us in every direction; the steep, sharp, snowy ridges behind us and the softer, lower mountain slopes below. We again held our breath as we passed the Devil’s Kitchen; certainly whatever he was cooking had not gotten any better in the time since we had passed. 

After the smell had faded, we ditched the crampons and hightailed it on our butts, glissading down that mountain as much as we could. As it was well into the afternoon now, the snow was quite soft and made glissading difficult so mostly we boot-skied in the slush down the mountain. The sun was setting which made a brilliant backdrop on our descent. We had anticipated a sunrise, but since that hadn’t happened, we were perfectly content with a sunset. 

We must have gotten back down to Timberline around 8pm. We spoke with one man who congratulated us and told us that basically everyone else who had gone up that day had left disappointed when the weather was just not improving. Sleeping in the van after our first attempt was our saving grace; it allowed the weather enough time to change, proving that sometimes the early bird just doesn’t get the worm, but as Patrick would later say, “the second mouse got the cheese.”

The three of us couldn’t believe all that had transpired that day. Was it really just that morning that we were stuck huddled together on a lift chair while the world outside the door was one giant whiteout storm? I don’t know how the weather did a complete 180, but I will take it. According to Strava, we gained over 9,000ft of elevation that day. Elation and exhaustion ensued and we left the mountain in a sleepy state of awe. 

Smashmouth Allstars Summit Hood