Climbing Mt. Adams South Side: A Most Satisfying Slog

Although many many moons have passed since I summited Mt. Adams (aka Klickitat) in south-central Washington, it remains a peak experience of my life.
 
Lots of memories of that invigorating and challenging hike/climb on a brilliant August weekend are still fresh. I was at my peak fitness before chronic Achilles tendinitis set in. (My friends called me Motor Mouse back then.)

Predawn on a warm summer morning, we left Hood River and drove north across the Columbia River, through Trout Lake, and up bumpy Forest Service roads to the trailhead, which back then wasn't too well marked or crowded.

I remember a slog up through forest, then emerging onto the exposed flanks of the volcano. I'm sure we had to slather on sunscreen as we neared granular, late summer corn snow while trudging upwards toward the Lunch Counter, our destination for the night.

[Apologies for the image quality of the subsequent photos; they are scanned from old prints, pre-digital 1990s.]

Motor Mouse with Matt's old skinny tele skis, Adams behind.

At about 9,500 feet, the Lunch Counter is a ridge on the route up the South Climb where most stop for lunch or pitch tents and sleep while acclimating to the altitude. 

It was only about noon when we arrived and dumped our heavy packs at the Lunch Counter. I remember trying to nap, reading, chatting up other climbers, eating, watching a Chinook helicopter fly nearby--clearly on a search and rescue. And watching the spectacular, 360 sunset. (My mom saw on the news that a climber had died on Adams and knew I was on the mountain. She had several hours of anxiety until she heard from me.)

Our tent, Mt. Hood (Wy'East) on the southern horizon

Mt. St. Helens in the dusky distance

Did I mention that Adams, at about 12,280 feet in elevation, is the second-highest peak in Washington and the third highest Cascade volcano after (1) Mt. Rainier and (2) Mt. Shasta? So getting to the summit is no small feat.

It's a sorta big feat, which requires being in pretty decent shape. Although as we got to the Lunch Counter, we saw a father with two little girls wearing light windbreakers, shorts, and Keds sneakers descending from above. Yikes!

Climbing partner Matt chillin' at the Lunch Counter

After sleeping fitfully for a few hours, Matt roused me at midnight to get ready for our ascent under a bright moon. Ice axe in hands, crampons on boots, and headlamps on, we headed up the steep 3,000-foot south face (a snowfield, no glacier here) in the middle-of-the-night chill.

Halfway up the well-defined path in the snow, we cruised past a solo climber, and just below the summit passed another solo man. First on the summit that day! Yeah, I was in great shape. I don't remember even being tired.

As the sky started to glow reddish-orange before sunrise, we were lucky to witness one of those sights that make you smile in wonder at the beauty of this world:  A brilliant shooting star streaked low across the horizon, seemingly below where we stood on high on the mountain. Was that for real?

Beneath a sky as spectacular as the sunset the night before, we watched the sunrise from the snow-encrusted summit. I recall a sense of immense space all around, below us, with incredible views of Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Rainier, and Hood to our south. If only I had the camera then that I have today.

Adams summit sunrise.

Then the other climber up there offered to snap a summit shot of us. Ha, I was surprised by the kiss, a sweet celebratory gesture. (We weren't dating, still lifelong friends.)

Summit celebration

I think we lingered a little while after sunrise on the summit, but it was still pretty cold as we began our descent. We stopped for a few panorama shots above the south face to show a sense of the mountain dropping away below.

Chilly me

Unfortunately for Matt it was a rough ski down over frozen suncups, while I glissaded the long south face. I can't remember who got down first.

I do remember a long trudge out, but we got back to Trout Lake for an afternoon lunch at a gas station-burger joint. I think it was about the best cheeseburger I've ever had. I also think it mightn't have tasted as good if I hadn't just climbed a 12,000+ foot volcano that morning.

Looking back from Trout Lake to the summit where we stood early the same morning.

Will I ever climb Adams again? Probably not. Aging knees and that pesky Achilles tendon have slowed me down. 

I do have my sights on climbing Mt. St. Helens again this fall. We'll see.  But I find it so satisfying to look at Mt. Adams from different perspectives and know I walked up to the top and back.

Adams from 20,000-ish feet. I stood on top of that once!

How about you? Have you climbed Mt. Adams or other Cascade volcanoes? Would love to hear about it in a comment below.

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons!

In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news. 

When You Go

 You know, it has been a couple decades since I did this climb, so I'm going to leave the descriptions and particulars to others. Check out the WTA climb description here. Summit Post has a better description here. As of mid-August, the climb was closed due to forest fires near the access.

Thanksgiving 2022: Seeking Wonder

As I ponder gratitude around Thanksgiving each year, a theme often surfaces. This year, I've been thinking a lot about wonder. Each time I experience or witness something that makes me smile or gasp in awe and wonder, I'm grateful.

These moments take us out of our everyday world and anxieties slip away. I can't put it better than this quote (I found online here):

Wonder helps to put our place in the world into perspective. It not only allows us to see beauty in a crabapple; it reminds us that we are finite and that we are a part of something much greater than our ability to comprehend it. 

Every time I see a sunrise or sunset that stops me in my tracks, witness a solar or lunar eclipse, or spot some wild orcas in the Salish Sea, I feel this awe.

There are a zillion things that can elicit a sense of wonder or awe. 

 

For this blog post, I was initially thinking about natural phenomena, not all of which I could photograph. Actually, thank goodness I wasn't disrupting some of these moments by taking pictures!

As I mentioned in my last post about open water swimming, there was that incredible night this past summer swimming through tiny sparkles of bioluminescent light in the dark Salish Sea. And the sunset that preceded the experience:

Chuckanut Bay sunset.

Hiking through a grove of golden subalpine larches, which I call unicorn trees, is another wondrous experience. People flock by the hundreds (maybe thousands?) to the most popular larch hikes in the region in a frenzy of "Larch Madness" each autumn. These conifers that glow golden for a few short weeks each October seem to cast a spell and draw you onward, wanting more.

I treasure memories of many nights sleeping under the stars during meteorite showers. Spotting a shooting star is truly one of the most awe-filled things to witness.

An especially vivid meteorite encounter was a peak experience, literally and figuratively. As my friend Matt and I neared the summit of Mt. Adams predawn one August morning many years ago, a brilliant shooting star streaked low across the horizon, not much higher than where we stood high on the 12,000-foot-tall mountain.

Mt. St. Helens from the Lunch Counter on Mt. Adams

In 2017, I was fortunate to witness a total solar eclipse from a friend's farm in Oregon's Willamette Valley. I was gobsmacked by that 90 seconds. The image of that black sun with spiky tendrils of light shooting out all around is a moment I will never ever forget.

Photo by Allen Denver.

In 2020, while the world was upended by the first wave of COVID-19, Comet NEOWISE was visible for weeks in the Northern Hemisphere. Several times I drove, binoculars in hand, to the darkest viewing spot I could find near my home in Seattle to see it, seemingly immobile in the night sky.

Sorry I don't know the artist name to give credit, but isn't this a splendid painting of NEOWISE?

Hummingbirds also enchant me, and I always love to hear and spot them. They're an amazing marvel of physics and speed. To the Coast Salish people, they were a sign of good luck.

And the Aurora Borealis! I finally saw them shimmering in curtains of green across the night sky about a year ago. I called a stargazer friend to narrate how awesome and wondrous it was as I watched them dance across northern horizon. I think I kept on saying "THIS IS SO AWESOME!"

 As I was thinking about writing this post, I was trying to catalogue my top wonder experiences (most mentioned above). But then I realized I could write all day about the wonder and awe we can feel every day if we pay attention.

Mt. Rainier/Tahoma sunset from Bainbridge Ferry

So this Thanksgiving/holiday season, I'm feeling gratitude for the capacity to witness and feel wonder. 

May you, too, allow yourself to notice and experience a sense of wonder, today and every day. And I'd love to hear in a comment below some of your wonder moments.

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.

 

 

Skiing into the New Year

My New Year's tradition involves a road trip to the edge of Mt. Rainier, where I start the year off right with a brilliant bluebird day at Crystal Mountain. With stunning views of the Big Kahuna of Cascade volcanoes just a few miles away, it's hard to not get revved up for the year ahead.

With a series of snowstorms in December right up until Christmas, Northwest skiers and riders are flocking to the mountains to slake our thirst from last winter's drought. And the slopes haven't disappointed.

It's still dark when we leave Seattle on a freezing cold morning. Gonna be really cold up there in the mountains I think as I scrape heavy frost off the windshield. 

Even in the predawn, Rainier looms large on the eastern horizon. I snap a few windshield shots en route at 60+ miles per hour. (No I wasn't driving.)

The world is a little fuzzy this early on New Year's morning. From Interstate 5.

30+ minutes later, from Enumclaw

Even though we arrive before the lifts open, a steady stream of cars has already half filled the lower B lot at Crystal, and people are crowding onto the parking lot shuttle. Wait, isn't everyone else supposed to be nursing their New Year's Eve hangovers?

So we get our tickets (sigh, no reloading your card online anymore for that discount and bypassing the ticket line) and head on up.

After a few warm-up runs over on Forest Queen, it's time to go up to the top. Because of that view. 

And of course the great skiing down the upper bowls.

Probably one of the most popular photo spots in the state of Washington.

Looking back up Green Valley.

Of course it's a five-star day, with all five Cascade volcanoes in the state visible along with many other peaks that divide our region from wet west and dry east. Prominent to the southeast is Mt. Adams, looking for all the world like Rainier's slightly smaller sibling. (Always makes me smile remembering that I've stood atop that mountain.)

Mt. Adams

So we ski easy, then harder, bump into old friends during lunch at Campbell Lodge, and go back out to tear up the slopes for a few more hours. Then quit while we're ahead.

 

Nothing makes me feel quite so alive as an excellent day skiing under blue skies in the mountain fresh cold air. What a way to start the year.

I hope your year is off to an equally good start.

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.

When You Go
Crystal Mountain is about 70-80 road miles southeast from Seattle (depending on where you start from in the city) on the northeastern edge of Mt. Rainier National Park. Check out their website for details on lift pricing, hours of operation, etc.

Hiking the Pacific Crest Trail: White Pass to Chinook Pass, Part 1

This is the first of a two-part series about my recent 3-day backpack trip along the Pacific Crest Trail in central Washington. You can read the second post here.

To get away from civilization, with only basic essentials for walking the landscape—no smartphone, no music but the sounds of nature, just whatever greets you in the moment—this to me is a gift.

And so some of us hit the trail for a night or two or more when we can. Life on the trail in wilderness landscapes is stripped down and clarifying.

When my friend Lisa (trail name: Cedar) said she was going to thru-hike our home state of Washington on the Pacific Crest Trail this summer, I asked to join her for a few days. I chose the relatively easy White Pass to Chinook Pass section of trail, a little over 28 miles and already on my list to hike.

When I hiked sections of the PCT as a teenager many years ago, we'd see hardly anyone else out there during a week on the trail. It's a very different scene today.

Back in the day, Goat Rocks Wilderness, Washington

Now several thousand people come to the West Coast of the USA each year to walk from Mexico to Canada on the PCT. Many more hike sections, like us. (In PCT lingo, we're LASHERS, short for Lazy Ass Section HikERS). Total use each year is likely over 100,000 hikers.

On a Friday evening in mid-July, my friend Claudia (trail name: Rosario, for her bright pink pants) and I got dropped off at White Pass with backpacks and food for 3 days on the trail. It didn't take us long to find Lisa at the Leech Lake campground, where we snagged a nice campsite beside the lake.

Leech Lake Campground at White Pass, Washington

Dinner included a salad of greens from my garden, which I knew Lisa would appreciate since she started hiking north from the Oregon border over 2 weeks ago. (Trail food is notoriously short on fresh produce.) Not long after sunset the persistent mosquitoes drove us to our tents, where I drifted to sleep quickly after reading a few pages of my book.

Day 1: White Pass to Snow Lake
With early mornings this time of year, we were up by daylight and on the trail by 8 a.m. For the full-on thru hikers who walk up to 30 miles a day, that's a really late start. For us, just fine.

Soon we entered the William O. Douglas Wilderness adjacent to the east side of Mt. Rainier National Park. Although we climbed a bit, overall our first day on the trail was fairly level, mostly above elevation 5,000 feet+, and we hiked a tad over 9 miles.

This area is characterized by lush subalpine forest, vivid green mountain meadows, and lots of alpine lakes and ponds. Good mosquito breeding territory. 

By mid-afternoon we reached Snow Lake and pitched our tents in a nice clearing above the serene lake, where we spied a mama duck and a few ducklings skittering across the surface. Then we read and napped, and later in the afternoon saw more hikers pass.  

As we were cooking dinner, a guy in his early 20s wandered up and decided this was the spot to camp after a 30-mile day. Such is the social and friendly way of the PCT. Bear Magnet (trail name) told us he'd thru hiked the Appalachian Trail a year or two ago and lost 40 pounds in the process.

Snow Lake

After dark, cozy in my sleeping bag, I heard a young couple wander up beside my tent in search of a place to camp for the night. I'd seen a sweet campsite farther up the lake on an after-dinner walk, and told them about it. Off they went. Then I slept soundly.

Day 2: Snow Lake to Two Lakes Junction
So this was the day for us, the one with blue skies, not nearly as many mosquitoes, and spectacular gorgeous breakout views after a first day mostly in forest.

Bear Magnet was up and off so early I didn't hear him leave, but we had a lazy morning, not hitting the trail until about 9:30. A splashing in the lake below turned out to be a fly fisherman, who was otherwise so quiet we didn't know he was around.

At the Bumping River crossing, we stopped to chat with Tinsel and Rocket (trail names, of course), two sisters in their 20s from Los Angeles whom Lisa had befriended earlier on her hike. Sadly, they were aborting their thru hike and jetting back to California due to Tinsel's sore knee.

As we continued north, a few other hikers Lisa had met along the way leapfrogged past us. There was a stream crossing too, where we had to take off our boots and roll up our pants to wade across.

After pausing to gaze at a particularly beautiful meadow sprinkled with purple lupine (my version of Heaven), we started our first big climb. Up and up we ascended, first through forest, then along a rocky, talus-strewn ridge, for a few miles.

Nearing the top, we had views back to White Pass, the Goat Rocks, and Mt. Adams beyond. This is what I truly love about hiking: reaching high ridges and peaks with expansive panorama views.

Goat Rocks, Mt. Adams beyond

Then it got even better. After topping out on the high end of the ridge, boom: Mt. Rainier (Tahoma) came into view, from an angle I've never seen before. Even though I've lived in its shadow most of my life, massive Rainier is always a startling sight.

Mt. Rainier

Can I just say, even though we only gained a little over 2,000 feet, I was beat. I've aged past my trail name (Motor Mouse), which I was bequeathed when I was younger, faster, and didn't have a cranky right knee. After a break, another mile on I got muscle cramps in my legs.

But I kept going because I Do Not Quit. And, um, what else would I do out there? (Several days later I found out I'm depleted of a key vitamin, so that explains some my dragginess.)

Thankfully we found a nice level campsite perched above Two Lakes junction at the head of a valley not long after, and witnessed a stunning moonrise. And yes, we were joined later by another solo, twenty-ish guy thru hiker (trail name Juicy Foot) who pitched a tent at our site.

After an almost 10-mile day, we all slipped to our tents not long after. Two days on the trail, feeling somewhat clarified, I was ready for more.

Check back for our third and final day soon...

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! 
  
In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news. 

When You Go 
Well, go prepared. These days, there are trail runners who do the whole 28 miles in one day, others backpack this stretch in just 2 days, and some take maybe 4 days. It all depends on your conditioning, available time, and inclination. Here's what the Washington Trails Association (WTA) says about this hike along with directions and logistics.

Mt. St. Helens National Monument: Take the Detour off I-5!

How many times have you zipped along I-5 between Portland and Seattle and noticed the signs for Mt. St. Helens National Monument…and not turned off?

Not even once?

Me neither. Until today.

For years I pooh-poohed the visitor center at the Johnston Ridge Observatory. Too touristy I figured. I’ve climbed to the summit from the south side and peered down into the crater (which I highly recommend), so driving to a visitor center seemed too crowded and tame.

Wrong.

If you want to see up close the aftermath of geologic forces that make the Pacific Northwest such a spectacularly scenic (and sometimes dangerous) place, take that exit off I-5 at Castle Rock and keep on driving. Besides awesome views and good hiking trails, the film at the visitor center has an ending more stunning than anything Hollywood could conjure. Plus there’s a bonus on the way back (keep reading…).



About an hour north of Portland, I turn off at 4 p.m. for the 55-mile drive to the Johnston Ridge Observatory, a bit late in the day since the center closes at 6. What I didn’t factor in was time to stop at the numerous viewpoints along the way and do much hiking. Next time I’ll go earlier with my hiking boots, pack, and water.

The Drive
While climbing gradually, the two-lane highway winds along the Toutle River valley, in and out of forest, and crosses some impressive bridges traversing gulches along the way. As you get closer, St. Helen peeks eerily above the foothills, its blown off summit a stark contrast with the forested green foothills.



The Loowit Trail
Less than a mile from the observatory, well into the denuded blast zone, I stop to take a short hike on the Loowit Trail that circumnavigates the mountain. I don’t have time to go too far, but views of the still-smoldering volcano are amazing (note, you can enter the off-limits zone via the Loowit Trail only).




Purple lupine and bright orange Indian paintbrush are emerging alongside the remnants of splintered tree trunks, reminders of the devastating 1980 eruption. If I’d been here when the north side of the mountain collapsed and unleashed a superheated cloud of ash, I would have been quickly incinerated—a sobering thought. A little over 60 people within the blast zone lost their lives that morning, including David Johnston, the young geologist and namesake of Johnston Ridge Observatory.





The Johnston Ridge Observatory
Arriving at the Johnston Ridge Observatory parking area is a surprise because I don't see the building. In a nod to environment-sensitive design, it has been built right into the hillside and isn't visible from the road.



I get to the observatory just about 25 minutes before closing, which doesn’t give me much time. Over the P.A. system, they’re announcing seating for the last showing of the 16-minute film, so I scoot in and grab a seat. As the lights go out, ominous music starts playing as scenes of trees being mowed down by the pyroclastic blast fill the screen.

“Mommy, I’m scared!” says a little boy seated behind me.

It’s not all scary, but quite informative. A haunting touch is the replay of David Johnston’s last words over the radio to the U.S. Geological Survey office in Vancouver, Washington. “Vancouver! This is it!” he yelled frantically as the mountain collapsed directly in front of him.

When the film is over, but the lights are still out, we’re asked to remain seated. Curtains rise behind the raised screen, and in front of us sits the star of the show – the gaping, open maw of Mt. St. Helens just a few miles away, still puffing steam. Because we’ve just seen eruption footage, it’s a jaw-dropping moment.



Before heading back down to the lowlands, I dash up the concrete pathway to a viewpoint above the observatory and twirl slowly around to take it all in. Thirty years after the 1980 eruption, old-growth tree trunks still lie flattened from the blast on the surrounding ridges. A bit of Mt. Adams is visible above the ridge to the east.





The Bonus
Earlier on the drive up, I’d noticed a sign for homemade cobbler, so of course I’m watching for it carefully as I head back down. Just around a bend as I enter Kid Valley, there it is, like a cute Grandma’s house surrounded by a tidy lawn and profuse colorful flowers.



Patty’s Place at 19-Mile House sits perched above the North Fork of the Toutle River, cozy and inviting in the golden glow of a summer evening. Inside the warm wood-paneled dining room with hand carvings and Mt. St. Helens memorabilia, I grab a corner table and order a wild mountain berry cobbler a la mode with a scoop of huckleberry ice cream. Dinner.

“The huckleberry ice cream costs more, is that okay?” asks the young waitress.

“How much more?”

“It’s $5.19 instead of $4.99,” she replies.

I think I can handle that. As I dive into the fresh warm cobbler (before snapping a picture, sorry!), I'm happy, sharing the room with other happy people on this soft summer night. The cobbler is wonderful, tart-sweet fruit with a crispy-yet-crumbly topping.



Flush with mountain fresh air and a marvelous little road trip, I flashback to family vacations when I was a kid, which were about driving around the West and taking in its grandeur. Then I head back to I-5 with a smile on my face.

When You Go
There are two roads into the Mt. St. Helens National Monument. Farther north on I-5 is the turnoff to Windy Ridge, which overlooks Spirit Lake. The Johnston Observatory closes for the winter at the end of October. This year admission to the visitor center is $8 for adults. If you plan on hiking, be sure and take lots of water.