Nothing too crazy. I figured out pretty quickly that I can’t really run through trees, do any jumps, or pound through deep powder with the GoPro attached to a trekking pole set up. I need my arms for that kind of stuff…

Step 2: Try to calm down her horror after you pass the meat department.

Step 3: Grab a large taro root from the produce department and head to the checkout.

Step 4: When you get home, bring large pot of water to a boil.

Step 5: Drop whole root into pot and set timer to boil for 40 minutes.

Step 6: Fall asleep on couch while reading iPhone.

Step 7: Wake up to find that pot has boiled over.

Step 8: Clean up mess.

Step 9: Take root out of water and let cool for 15 minutes.

Step 10: Remove the peel and cut into chunks (the root, not the peel).

Step 11: Mash, blend, whatever – just pulverize it. Add water as you go to get the right consistency.

Step 12: Taste.

Step 13: Throw in the trash because you realize that poi tastes like shit.

Final product just before hitting the trash

Stay tuned…

Oh, and I didn’t break my foot in the Sisters trip.

“I’m okay with doing the whole loop, but I’m not climbing anything.” Mike had suggested that we climb Middle Sister in addition to hiking the near 45 mile loop which is itself between 5,500 and 7,000 feet the whole time. After my Timberline Trail disaster, I was reluctant to hike the entire loop, let alone climb anything. For a while, I was really into climbing to the summits of the local mountains but I have a little problem: Severe altitude sickness at any altitude above 8000ft. It’s not very dangerous, it’s just really uncomfortable for me – pounding headaches, severe nausea, tunnel vision. My first several climbs, I was so motivated to get to the summit that I just suffered through the symptoms.

Then earlier this year I was doing a solo climb of Mt Hood when I got to about 10,000ft to find that all of my water had frozen. I was thirsty and suffering from some serious altitude sickness when I looked up at the summit and thought, “Why am I doing this? I’ve already been up there a few times before. I’m going home.” I haven’t been above 8000ft since…

Day 1

The plan was to take 4 days to hike the loop going clockwise. We were entering at Pole Creek because it was the closest trailhead to the loop. The loop is already just shy of 44 miles; I’m not adding six miles of hiking just to get onto the trail. We had to leave Thursday morning due to scheduling issues so we didn’t get to the trailhead until 11am. After a half hour of double checking and organizing gear we head out on the trail. The spur is dry and full of a soft dusty sand-ash mix as we cut through a pine forest. After about a mile and a half, we join the loop trail.

The trailhead at Pole Creek. The whole east side is this dusty, sandy pine scrub.

There are several creek crossings, but they are either small or have some sort of bridge so there isn’t even a risk of getting our boots wet. Unless you love dust and viewless pine scrub, this section of the loop kind of sucks. As we approach Broken Top to the south, we climb up to what will be the highest point of the whole trip, about 7000ft on the ridge between Broken Top and South Sister. From there we drop down into the Green Lakes area.

Mike just before the high point between Broken Top and South Sister. Broken Top in the background.

We had set out to make camp that night at Green Lakes. We had a short day because of the late start and had logged a little over 9 miles. I had heard great things about the Green Lakes and figured that it would be a perfect place to camp. When we got there, it was nice – and there wasn’t really anyone there – but it wasn’t as amazing as I had been told. To be fair, maybe it just wasn’t my taste. Mike wasn’t terribly impressed either. The area was still kind of dusty and it was only 4:30pm.

Entering Green Lakes from the north. I apologize for the big spot of water on my lens.

“Do you want to camp here tonight?” I asked.

“Meh. Do you think we could make Moraine Lake by nightfall?”

Looking back down on one of the Green Lakes.

“Five miles in two hours? I’m game.” Something became obvious on this trip – Mike and I both have severe cases of ADHD. We LOVE to be moving and HATE to sit still. The thought of setting up camp and sitting around for a couple hours seemed pointless to us. I understand that some people love to take their time and sit and be quiet to recharge their batteries. For people like me and Mike, that happens while moving. It is similar to a person going for a run to clear their head. The monotony of the hiking is what turns off the brain – sitting in quiet solitude ramps it up.

The trail south out of Green Lakes drops back down into the dust and pine. After a couple miles, we finally turn right and head to the west. From there we start climbing up onto the high plateau. This section is pretty rough, but we are finally getting out of the trees. We get to Moraine Lake at around 6:30pm and find an open campsite. We scramble to get the tents set up on the rocky ground before the sun starts to go down.

Finally at the campsites at Moraine Lake.

After dinner, we take a look at the map. We are way farther than we had planned. If we were to camp the next night at Remmer Lake where we had intended, it would be way too short of a day. We go to bed not knowing what the plan would be for Friday, but we know that we will not be in any kind of a hurry. Mike has noticed that he is starting to get a large blister on the ball of his foot. I’m doing well, but has noticed that my big toe is kind of achy. My lips are also starting to get pretty chapped in the dry air. It would all become amplified over the next two days.

View of South Sister from our campsite.

Day 2

The next morning is very still and a little chilly. I grab a bottle and head down to the lake to get some water to make breakfast. When I get there, I am stunned. It is a perfect mirror with a beautiful yellow and pink ridge directly behind it, 10,358 foot South Sister looming in the background. I grab the water and sprint back to camp. “Here, take this!” I hand the bottle to Mike, grab my camera and run back to the lake.

Moraine Lake soon after sunrise.

Another view of Moraine Lake soon after sunrise with South Sister in the background.

When I get back to camp, Mike is making coffee in his camp friendly press pot. We take our time eating and then breaking down camp. We head west and continue climbing higher crossing Wickiup Plain. We join up with the Pacific Crest Trail and start to head north, entering the amazing west side of the loop.

Let me see if I can explain the west side. It is the wetter side, which means a thicker lusher forest of fir trees. It does not, however, mean more water. Large sections of the west side are completely covered by pumice fields which allows the water to pass right into the ground. It also makes these very interesting meadows of rock – something that I had never seen before.

Mike taking pictures of wildflowers near a rare creek on the west side of the loop.

We cruise in and out of the forest in perfect weather. “Uh oh,” I hear from Mike. “Either water just dumped into my boot, or that massive blister just burst.” We stop for a boot break. After my own issues with blisters of my previous trip, I was well equipped. I had a bunch of blister pads and duck tape. We get his blister dressed, eat some lunch, and continue on.

The other thing about the west side of the loop is the stunning views of the Sisters. Although the third highest peak in Oregon, South Sister has the reputation of being a very tame walk up. I’ve been up to the summit several times myself and was still shocked by the view of northwest face. From this angle it looks massive and brutal. At one point, we hear what sounds like thunder. I quickly look back at that northwest face and see a cloud of snow and debris as something has just let loose down the side of the mountain. The power is impressive.

The northwest side of South Sister.

Since North Sister, the fourth highest peak in Oregon, is actually northeast of Middle Sister, the fifth highest peak in Oregon, you don’t see it until you come up along side of the shorter mountain. I had heard that North Sister was the most dangerous of the three peaks but had never seen it up close. I would want nothing to do with this thing. I can’t see any kind of route and, to top it off, the summit appears to be one huge block of solid vertical rock.

At this point, we misread the map. We THINK that we are entering the Obsidian area. We are ACTUALLY about four miles away. “You know,” I say. “If we push a little bit, we can camp at Sawyer Bar next to White Branch Creek.” From there, it’s just 15 miles back to the car. We could be out of here tomorrow…”

“Let’s do it!”

It’s getting late, so we start to really move. I start to get confused. Where is all of the obsidian that I had read about? Something is not right. We should have seen Obsidian Falls right when we entered the area. Maybe it is dry now or way off the trail. It just doesn’t make sense. We are starting to get really tired when I believed that we were making the last turn before the two and a half mile long ascent to Sawyer Bar. It is almost 6pm and we have been going essentially non-stop all day. Then we get to a waterfall.

“What the hell?” I’m confused. I break out the map. “There isn’t supposed to be a waterfall anywhere near Sawyer Bar. The only waterfall that we were supposed to come across today was…” My heart sunk. We were only at Obsidian Falls.

At this time we see a couple with their 8 year-old son and two large dogs heading the opposite direction. “Is this Obsidian Falls?” I ask.

“Yeah!” replied the woman. “We just came out of the Obsidian area and it is amazing!”

“There are lakes up there that are so perfectly round that they look like sun dials!” exclaimed the kid.

“Wow!” I said out loud. What I was thinking was, “What the hell does THAT mean?” I look back at the woman. “So we are just now entering Obsidian?”

“Yeah, it’s right up there.”

“How far to Sawyer Bar?” I ask hopefully.

“Oh, that’s no where near here. That is probably four miles away.”

Crap. We continue up the trail to the top of the waterfall where we find a really perfect campsite. Unfortunately there are signs all over it saying “No Camping”. I look at the map and see the lakes that the kid was talking about only half a mile farther. We figure that we could set up camp next to one of the lakes.

The setting sun over some of the obsidian.

Once we get up there, we realize how bad of an idea that is. It is above the treeline and the wind is whipping through with a pretty cold bite. Also, the ground is covered in rock and obsidian. If you have never seen obsidian, it looks like someone shattered black beer bottles all over the place. It is really cool to look at, but I can’t imagine that setting a tent on it would be the best idea. The two lakes up there are perfect circles. Mike laughs, “They DO look like sun dials.”

“What do you want to do, Mike? We may not find anything better before nightfall. It is another mile to Glacier Creek and who knows what we will find there. It could be dry.”

Mike has a trip report that he printed off the internet. “It says that there are good campsites and a water source near the Glacier Creek crossing. Of course from there it is only another two and a half miles to Sawyer Bar…”

It’s almost dark. “If we know there is a good camping area and water near Glacier Creek, let’s just camp there. I would hate to get to Sawyer Bar just to find out that White Branch Creek is dry and there are no good campsites.”

As we are descending to Glacier Creek, we see a couple guys heading up in the direction of the saddle between North and Middle Sister. At one of our previous map breaks, we had found that there was a climbing route up North Sister that started in that area. They must be setting up a high camp for a climb the following day. I did not envy them.

After a foot abusing descent, we cross Glacier Creek. The area is like something right out of a postcard. We are stoked! We find a great large sheltered site about 200 feet from the creek – just the right distance. My right foot is killing me at this point and Mike’s feet look like he stuck them in a blender. I head back to the creek for a quick foot soak in the frigid which doesn’t make them feel better, but does make them numb pretty fast.
After setting up the tents, we start making dinner. Mike is messing with getting his sleeping pad into the tent when the ground starts shaking. It sounds like a boulder coming down the trail from above us. Through the trees in the fading light I get the glimpse of someone running completely out of control. I’m confused. Then I realize that it isn’t a person.

“DEER!” I yell out more out of surprise than anything. This completely catches the deer off guard and he flinches to a sudden stop damn near the middle of our campsite. Had I not startled him, there is a good chance that he would have barreled right through one of our tents. The deer and I stare at each other in surprise for a few seconds and then he bounds off in a slightly different trajectory.

Great campsite at Glacier Creek.

We discuss tomorrow’s plans as we eat dinner. “We just did almost 20 miles today,” I point out. We only have 15 miles to finish the loop and get back to the car.”

“My feet hurt so bad, I don’t care how far I have to walk if we can just be done tomorrow,” was Mike’s reply. It was settled. We were going to complete the loop in two and a half days.

Day 3

Saturday morning we wake up with some really sore feet. My right foot has become really painful to bear weight. Something appears to be wrong in one of the bones. The pain is deep inside and very sharp when it hits (it is later believed that I had sustained a stress fracture). “All the more reason to be done today,” I mumble to myself. I figure that if we can get to the turn off at Scott Pass by 2pm, we can get to the car by dark.

Mike is gimping around like he is walking on broken glass. We get his blisters dressed with blister pads and duck tape. Once his boots are on he exclaims, “Wow! It feels like I can run in these things!” and he tests them by jumping up and down. We break down camp and start heading for the creek crossing around 9:30am.

When we get there, we see two guys and their dog at the crossing and they appear confused. They start heading towards the mountains then stop and start looking around again. “Are you guys lost?” I ask.

“Well, maybe. We are trying to climb Middle Sister today. Is this the trail that heads up there?”

In my curiosity of North Sister, I had looked at all of the potential climbing routes on my map last night. “Well, this trail heads up to the saddle between the mountains, but I don’t know if you can get to Middle Sister from there. I know that this is the trail for climbing North Sister. I think that the trails to Middle Sister are further south…”

“No, this is the one we want. We are going up the north side of Middle so we need to get to the saddle.” They headed up the trail. It seemed like a really late start, but whatever.

We hike the two and a half miles to Sawyer Bar. Yikes! The only flat area is covered with large river rocks and the creek is bone dry. Spending the night here would have been miserable. We climb up to the high point of today at Opie Dilldock Pass, just shy of 7000 ft. From here we can see a couple day hikers on Collier Cone below North Sister.

View of North Sister from Opie Dilldock Pass. Go ahead, we laughed at the name, too.

Day hikers on Collier Cone. North Sister's northwest face in the background.

We keep moving. The name of the game today is lava flows. Large sections of the trail cross several of these barren rock formations adding to the uniqueness of the hike.

Mike crossing one of the many lava flows that we encountered on Day 3.

At around 1:30pm, we round Yapoah Crater and stop to take pictures of the northwest face of North Sister.

Edge of Yapoah Crater with North Sister in the background. Within minutes of the time this photo was taken, North Sister claimed another climber.

The following morning, we learned that a climber fell to his death at around 1:30pm that day on the west side of North Sister. Mike believed that it was one of the guys to whom we gave directions that morning. I have my doubts since those guys were headed to Middle Sister and clearly lost. The man who fell apparently had been up there several times and knew the area well. That does not describe the guys we met. Now the two guys that we saw heading up the saddle the day before; that seemed much more likely. Turns out we were both wrong. That climbing party had left from Pole Creek Trailhead and headed up the southeast ridge, wrapping to the west side on the final push.

We hit Scott Pass right on time. South Matthieu Lake is about a half mile off of the trail, but we figure that we have enough water to get to Alder Creek, five miles away. After we make the turn there is some initial confusion as to where the trail actually heads east. Let’s just say that a sign for the turn off would have been useful.

We quickly descend into the dusty pine scrub that we had dealt with on Thursday. Mike starts slowing down. “I thought you could run in those things?”

“Nope,” Mike replied. “That feeling went away miles ago.” After descending for about a mile and a half, we come across a trail that heads south. There is no sign. We are completely confused. According to the map, we shouldn’t come across another trail until we hit the Green Lakes Trail heading south making up the east side of the loop. That is supposed to be a major intersection, but there are no signs here.

At this point another backpacker catches up with us. We have been crossing paths with him all day, as we are all trying to get to Pole Creek by nightfall. “Do you know if this is the Green Lakes Trail?” Mike asks.

“Oh this isn’t it. You have a little ways still to go. I don’t know where this one goes…maybe Yapoah Lake?” He takes a sip of water. “I’m glad that I got water at Matthieu Lake. I ran into a guy who said that Alder Creek was completely dry. There is no water until Pole Creek.”

I was still drawing from the reservoir in my pack and had my reserve 500mL bottle in a side pocket but I was having flashbacks of heat exhaustion during my Timberline Trail failure. It is hot, dusty, and starting to get a little humid. We continue down the trail and after several moments of self doubt, we come across the turn off. It is a large trail, with a large well marked sign. My reservoir is empty, but I still have my reserve.

“Mind if I lead, Mike?” When a horse is “barn sour”, it means that it has learned to love living in a barn. It’s comfortable, there’s food and water, and all of your friends are there. This kind of horse will fight you during your whole ride until you point it back towards the barn. Then it is like an animal possessed. It moves with focused determination straight back to the barn. This describes my backpacking. We just made the final turn towards the car. It was still seven miles away, but we were now pointing in the right direction. I took off.

It starts to get overcast and I start to feel some sprinkles. Then, thunder. I shake my fist at the sky, “Don’t you DARE!” Why can’t I get through a single backpacking trip without having to deal with thunderstorms? Luckily it passes, but I can see large dark clouds collecting over North and Middle Sister.

Four miles later, I reach Alder Creek with the hope that there would be SOME water. I had used most of my reserve and only have about 100mL left. I jog up to the creek and cross it. Completely dry. Dammit. I plop down in the surprisingly nice campsite next to the creek. Within a minute Mike catches up.

“No water?”

“None. We’ve got another two miles to get to Pole Creek.” I then suggest, “We can grab some water there for the final two miles to the trailhead.”

After another mile and a half we catch up to another backpacker who is just standing in the trail. We had seen her before with another guy, but he is now nowhere to be seen. “Do you guys know how much farther to the next water?” she asks.

“Pole Creek is only another half mile down the trail and I was told that there was water there,” I tell her. We continue down the trail. She is moving slower than we are so we start to pull away. Soon we are at Pole Creek. Dry. Not even slightly damp. Damn.

We walk another couple hundred feet and I stop and look back. I start thinking about the girl’s situation. Where was her companion? Was she TOTALLY out of water? How long has she been out of water? Our situation was pretty good since I had stashed two liters of water in the car just in case. We might be almost out, but we were leaving.

Mike still has some water on him. “Mike, I feel terrible. I told her that there would be water at Pole Creek and it’s dry. Would you be okay with giving her what we have left?”

“Absolutely, but I’m not backtracking one step. Feel free to walk it back to her.” I grab his water and start moving back towards the creek. Just before I get to the dry creek I run into her.

I apologize. “Sorry about that. I thought there would be water there.” I hand her the hundred milliliters Mike had in the bottle. “It’s not much but it should get you to Soap Creek which I KNOW has water. We were just there the day before yesterday.”

“You sure?” I nod yes. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” She takes a couple slugs and hands it back. I offer her more but she refuses. We quickly catch up to Mike and continue down the trail. Her companion is sitting next to the trail a little farther down.

“I think we found something of yours,” I inform him. He has a little water left and hands it to the girl. We reassure them of the presence of water at Soap Creek then head on to look for the turn off to the Pole Creek Trailhead. It seems to take forever and Mike and I are getting frustrated. The clouds have rolled back in and they are DARK this time. As we reach the turn off, big drops start to come down. We now know that we have exactly 1.4 miles to the parking lot. It is 6pm and there is not a whole lot of daylight left.

“Mike, I’ll meet you at the car.” I take off running down the trail. The sky opens up and it starts pouring. I see a dry spot on the trail ahead in the leeward side of some trees. I crouch under the cover to get out of the rain. Mike soon catches up. “There’s plenty of room under here if you want to join me.”

“I’m not stopping,” and he moves right on by. Thirty seconds later it lightens up and I make another break for it. I catch up to Mike and settle into his pace. The rain waxes and wanes but there isn’t much we can do about it other than keep moving.

Right at 6:30pm, we reach the car. I grab the extra water and hand a bottle to Mike. We peel off our boots and switch to sneakers then throw all of our gear into the back.

“Really cheap greasy Mexican food?”

“Let’s do it.”

The map. Red is Day 1, Blue is Day 2, and Yellow is Day 3.

Lessons learned

1. Even when it is not cold, bring chapstick to altitudes above 5,000 feet.  Chapped lips can make things miserable and are easily prevented.
2. Add blister pads to your first aid kit and get rid of the moleskin.  You will be much happier with the reduced weight, ease of use, and improved performance.
3. Even the strongest duck tape is no match for my sweat.  I’m going to look into alternatives to duck tape for blister care and report back.
4. Think twice before you climb North Sister.  Reports are that it appears somewhat easy to climb but it has now claimed several lives.  I’ve never been up there, but I hear setting up a fixed line for that traverse above the Bowling Alley is a good idea.

“Seriously?” I ask the ranger on the phone.  I was planning to leave the next morning on a 3-4 day solo trip around Mt Hood on the Timberline Trail.  I was being responsible and double checking the conditions before heading out.

“Yes.  Using regular backpacking boots would be very risky.  That was just updated by someone today so it’s current,” she replied.  ”Also, route finding is very difficult on the east side of the mountain right now.  And the Eliot Creek crossing is still closed.”

I hung up the phone.  I knew all about the Eliot crossing and knew that the “official” statement was that it was closed.  Many people report that it is sketchy but, especially going clockwise around the mountain and with a little planning, it is very doable.

I’m sure not going to lug a pair of snowshoes around the mountain.  Besides, whatever snow there is would be extremely hard packed at this time of the year so snowshoes would be worthless.  Crampons are much lighter, but I fear that I would be putting them on and taking them off so often that they would be impractical with my very comfy backpacking boots.  ”Seriously?” I thought to myself again.  I decided that the best compromise was to wear my crampon-compatible lightweight mountaineering boots and bring the crampons.  This would be my undoing…

The view of the summer ski area (Palmer Snowfield) from the parking lot at Timberline Lodge.

I parked at Timberline Lodge and saw people setting up for Hood to Coast – the relay race from Mt Hood to the Oregon Coast that would be starting the next the morning.  I headed to the climber’s registration to get a backcountry permit.  There is a whole stack there, but there is also a huge sign instructing backpackers NOT to sign in here as this is to track climbers.  I should pick up my permit along the trail at the backcountry entry point.

Just getting onto the actual trail and looking back at Timberline Lodge. Rain in the distance on the left...

I hit the trail heading clockwise.  The wildflowers throughout the lower ski resort are stunning.  Where there is snow higher on the mountain there are snowboarders working the terrain park (yes, you can ski/ride on Mt Hood in August every year).

The backcountry registration area.

After a short while I hit the registration box for backcountry permits.  It’s empty.  What the hell?  I take a picture of the empty box figuring that I can show it to any disgruntled ranger that I may come across before I hit the next permit box at Bald Mountain.

The registration box was all out of permits.

A couple miles in and I’m moving at a good clip, but I notice something unsettling – I’m getting a hotspot on both heels.  I momentarily panic – I forgot to bring duck tape!  Wait, I’ve got some band-aids and besides, I’ve got good socks and liners.  I’m overreacting…

I stop and put on the band-aids then continue on along.  Much better.  When I get to Zigzag Canyon I can feel them bothering me again.  I’m still not worried.  I’ve passed several people already and I’m sure that I can get some duck tape from somebody.  Just then, a guy who I passed early comes strolling up behind me.  I make a little small talk then ask if he had some duck tape that he can give me.  ”I think so.  If I have any, it’s not much and it’s pretty old, but it should work.  Do you want it now?’

Looking into Zigzag Canyon. You can see the river all the way at the bottom.

The hotspots have not been bothering me on the downhill sections and we were about to descend into Zigzag Canyon.  ”I don’t want to hold you up – Why don’t we head down together and see what you have when we get to the river crossing at the bottom?”  Larry (his name) and I made the long decent to the bottom of the canyon.

At the bottom he hands me a lighter wrapped in old yellow duck tape.  ”Take it all.  It’s old anyway. I need to replace it.”  I take the extra tape and wrap it around a trekking pole.  He also gives me some moleskin which I graciously accept.

There is a group of people crossing the river making it look much harder than it needs to be.  The river is not wide and there are plenty of rocks to walk across.  A pair of hikers moving fast and light quickly cross the river over a couple rocks without even hesitating.  Larry tries to do the same but gets his trekking pole stuck between two rocks making him stomp in the shallow water on the other side.  He heads on up into the woods on the other side.

Thanks Larry!

I get my blisters covered in moleskin and duck tape then look at the river.  I had brought some sandals to wear for the river crossings but I have just dressed my heels and don’t want to ruin that moleskin by getting it wet.  I decided to put my boots back on for the crossing.  Besides, they are waterproof so as long as I don’t get deeper than my ankle, I’m fine.

The right way to cross a river. Read my description below for the wrong way to cross a river.

River crossings on Mt Hood can be dangerous for a backpacker.  Even in small rivers such as this one, a fall may find you being dragged underwater by your heavy pack.  As a rule, you should unbuckle your waist and chest straps to allow for a quick release of the pack.  I do this then start crossing over the rocks.  A couple steps across the river and my loose backpack shifts suddenly.  I over correct and instinctively put a foot into the deeper water.  That foot slips and I go sideways into the river, banging my thigh into the rock I was standing on.  I quickly jump out of the river but can already feel that my boots are full of water.

I’m pissed.  I take the boots off and wring out my socks.  I have a spare pair of socks but they would just become soaked as well by the wet lining of the boots.  I’m hoping that the old duck tape has kept the moleskin dry.  I put the wet socks and boots back on hoping that they will dry as I walk.  It was only noon and I had quite a lot of sun and heat ahead of me that should help my situation.

I climb out of Zigzag Canyon and head into Paradise Park.  It is quite a beautiful setting.  I run into Larry who is setting up his campsite and thank him again for his help.  A little farther and I stop for lunch.  I notice something: There is no snow up here!  A couple patches but nothing like the ranger was describing.

Paradise Park above Zigzag Canyon. "A lot of snow" my ass.

I break open some beef jerky and start eating a couple pieces.  I look down at the last piece in my hand. It has a white film on it as do several more pieces in the bag.  I quickly check the expiration date on the bag – not expired.  The package was still sealed when I had sat down so it had to be good.  Besides, I rarely eat beef jerky.  This might be normal.  I put the piece in my mouth and immediately taste bleu cheese.  I quickly spit it out and close up the bag.  Well there goes a large component of my lunches for the next four days…

I continue on across Paradise Park and come to the amazing Reid Glacier/Yocum Ridge area.  There is a huge canyon where the Sandy River cuts through along the south side of Yocum.  I pop in my headphones and begin my decent into the thick forest (might I recommend the Nerdist Podcast?).  After about 30 minutes, I just can’t stand the pain in my heels anymore.  My boots are not any drier than they were a couple hours ago – turns out that boots that do a good job keeping water out also do a good job of keeping water in.  I decide that I have to take them off and resolve this situation.

I take everything off.  The duck tape is no longer sticking to my heels and the moleskin is soaked.  My heels are literally torn apart.  I have got to dry these out.  I tie the boots and socks to the outside of my pack with the hopes that they will have a better chance to dry.  I put on my dry socks and my sandals and feel much better.  I put my pack on and – holy crap!  Those boots weigh a ton!  I continue on.

Still listening to my headphones I get to the bottom of the ridge and the Sandy River.  There are flags showing the way across the wide, confusing crossing.  The one spot where you cross actual water has a log bridge with a rope making the crossing pretty simple.

Breaking out of the woods at the Sandy River.

The markers for crossing the Sandy River floodplain. There is a river somewhere in there.

The actual crossing of the Sandy River. Simple but very safe and effective.

I trudge on up the other side and turn off towards Ramona Falls.  I get to the falls and the sun is getting lower.  I figure that I have 4 more hours of daylight left and would like to push towards Bald Mountain.

There are plenty of pictures of the entire Ramona Falls online. I zoomed in for a close-up.

Before I head out I need to make a decision: Continue on the Timberline Trail where there is a reportedly difficult crossing (“barely passable”) of the Muddy Fork or take the PCT where there exists a make-shift bridge to cross the same river.  They both meet up again at Bald Mountain.  The PCT way is a little shorter but is buried in the woods and has a steeper climb out.  Just then a guy comes down from the Timberline Trail.  I asked, “Are you coming from around the mountain?”

“Yeah, we left Timberline Lodge a couple days ago and have been going counter-clockwise.”

“How is the Muddy Fork crossing?”

“Well, it was okay,” he replied.  ”There are three of us so we just held on to each other as we waded across.”

Yeah, screw that!  I think to myself.  I’m going PCT.

“How was the snow crossing the east side?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The ranger told me yesterday that you need snowshoes or crampons to cross the east side,” I said.

“Seriously?”  He looked confused.  ”It’s the high point of the trail so there is always some snow crossing to do, but nothing worse than normal.  Trekking poles and you’re fine.”

“But if you had crampons you would have used them, right?” I hoped that I wore those damn boots for a reason.

He thought for a split second and said, “Nah, they wouldn’t be worth taking the time to put them on.”

I said goodbye and headed down the PCT.  I was fuming.  Other than the spoiled jerky, all of my current problems were related to the stupid boots that I was now not even wearing.  I hiked for several more miles and crossed the Muddy Fork on a safe but awkward bridge.  Another mile and it was time to set up camp.

Muddy Fork crossing. The angle kind of dumps you away from the splinter-rich railing making it a little more awkward than expected. The thick woods in this area made finding a campsite tricky.

I immediately set up a fire to dry off my gear.  I stick my hand into one wet boot and feel the heel – there is no padding at all.  What I have since figured out is that these boots are designed to ascend while keeping the ankle neutral.  This means toe-kicking in snow or using a heel-kick on a snowshoe.  If you ascend with the foot and ankle flexed – like when on snow-free trails – it puts excessive pressure on the heel.  Fine for short or mild ascents, lousy for the long and steep ascents of the Timberline Trail.

After a few hours by the fire, the socks are completely dry but the boots are still very wet inside.  My feet are just raw and angry.  I’m lonely.  I miss my wife and daughter.  I am miserable.  As I have said many times before, I don’t do these things to be miserable.  At this point I consider bailing and heading back in the morning.  I’ll see how I feel in the morning.  Maybe the boots will dry overnight and with some gauze and tape I can find a way to pad the heel and make them work.  I head to bed.

I wake up at 5am to flashes of light.  What the hell is that?  Thunder.  Oh hells no!  I quickly grab my headlamp and open the tent.  It’s not raining yet.  I take a bathroom break then make sure all of my gear is covered and jump back in the tent.  I ride out the storm in the tent.  I turn on my walkie and listen to the weather report for the Oregon Cascades – thunderstorms early then clearing by noon.  Same thing for the next two days.  That seals it.  I’m outta here!

By 6:15am, the downpour has stopped.  I check my gear – everything is dry.  Well everything but the inside of my boots which are still damp.  I dress my heels and create as much padding in the back of the boots as I can.  I figure that with two dry pairs of socks I could take a chance on the boots.  The thought of hiking 13+ miles back to my truck in sandals sounds awful.  I don’t have a cell signal and consider hiking to the Ramona Falls Trailhead in the hopes of finding a signal there.  I could call my wife and see if she could pick me up.  I decided against it.  The trailhead might be miles out of the way (it was off of the map I was carrying) and I may still find that I have no signal.

I broke camp and headed back towards the truck.  Right away I can feel my heels complaining.  Who cares?  They’re trashed anyway.  I’ll just keep the boots tight and deal with them when I get home.  That mindset changed after about a mile and I changed back into my socks and sandals setup.  I am quickly reminded again of how heavy it is to carry those boots.

It is already getting hot.  With the recent heavy rain it is getting really steamy and for the first time the mosquitoes come out.  They are fine as long as I keep moving, but are swarming whenever I stop.  The DEET spray I put on only barely helps.

I didn't take any damn pictures on Day 2...

I had last filled up with water at Ramona Falls the day before but would be bypassing them on the way back.  I figured that I would fill up again at the Sandy River but was so focused on moving fast and getting the hell out of there that I forgot.  When I remembered, I figured that I would just hit one of the small streams as I crossed Paradise Park at the top of the ridge.

As I am climbing up the ridge it is getting unbearable.  I can see the steam rising off of the forest floor.  Sweat is pouring off of me as I’m pushing hard to get this thing over with.  At that point, my reservoir goes dry.  No problem, I’ve got about 200mL in the water bottle on my hip and I’m sure that I’m almost at the top where I can get water.

When I had descended the day before I was listening to headphones and problem solving my boot situation.  I had kind of lost track of time and distance.  What I didn’t realize is that I still had about 4 more miles to go up this steamy, mosquito infested ridge.  I became so thirsty that I start sipping my reserve.  Finally, I’m out.  I am completely exhausted and try to stop in a shady spot but the mosquitoes are insane.  I keep plodding along hoping to finish this ridge.

Finally I hit the top and a small snow field.  I find clean snow and pack it into my water bottle hoping that it will melt quickly in the heat.  I eat a couple mouthfuls just to get some water in me.  I take a moment to rest as there is a slight breeze here holding the mosquitoes back.  A little farther and I am at a tiny stream.  I quickly fill my water bottle and break out the steri-pen.  I force myself to drink 500mL then sterilize another bottle full.  I feel nauseous so I don’t drink anymore and continue down the trail.

I bypass Paradise Park staying on the PCT below.  A few miles later and the heat is really starting to get to me but I still don’t feel very thirsty.  After traversing around another canyon in the sun I drop to the ground in the shade.  I have got to take a break.  I force myself to gulp some water.  After about 10 minutes of sitting there I get up for a bathroom break.  At this point, the dehydration is obvious.  I go back to my pack and force more water into me.  I put my pack back on and get really dizzy.  I drop the pack and lean against a tree.  That is when I started throwing up.

At this point I’m concerned.  This is now heat exhaustion.  In this situation, your system is out of sorts because it is having difficulty controlling your body temperature.  The resulting nausea makes drinking water difficult which greatly ups the danger factor.  That said, I’m not in real danger since I come across another hiker once every hour on this busy trail.  Besides, I have enough medical knowledge to know what I’m dealing with…assuming I stay lucid.

I sit back down in the shade slowly sipping water and letting the breeze cool me off.  I feel better since throwing up.  After about 30 minutes, I feel like I can continue.  I figure that if I can get to the Zigzag River which can’t be too much farther, I’ll be able to cool down more effectively.

It is another two miles or so before I hit the river.  I rip off my socks and wade across the river in my sandals – way easier than rock hopping with a heavy pack.  I dump my pack on the other side, take off my shirt and go lay down in the river.  Ahhhh, that’s better.  I climb out onto a rock and dry in the sun.  At this point it occurs to me that this was the same location where, yesterday, my trip had begun going horribly wrong setting off a cascade of events that damn near could have killed me.  The same river that I had cursed for starting all of my problems yesterday was the same river that had solved all of my problems today.

Several more groups of hikers come through and I happily take the role of “weird filthy grizzled shirtless keeper of the river” giving advice on the crossing and helping to carry other people’s gear across.  After hanging around for about 45 minutes I get suited back up and hike the remaining few miles back to the truck, weirdly delerious with joy.  I literally started laughing out loud when I got to the chairlifts at the ski resort.

And there were still no permits in the permit box…

Lessons learned

1. Timberline is a backpacking trail.  Although I never confirmed this myself, the report is that you don’t need snowshoes or crampons at any point.  I don’t know what the person at the ranger station was talking about.  If you want to be extra prepared, bring strap-on crampons that you can use with regular hiking boots in a worst case scenario.  If you are really worried, head counter-clockwise out of Timberline Lodge or clockwise out of Cloud Cap so that you hit the east side first.  Bad snow?  Turn around.
2. If you are doing an overnight trip and/or plan on crossing many rivers, carry sandals for the crossings.  It is SO MUCH EASIER to wade across in sandals with an unbuckled (ie loose) pack than trying to balance on rocks.  A wet pair of boots should be avoided at all costs.
3. I would plan for no more than 10 miles a day on this trail.  The elevation changes can wear on you after a day or two.  I could also see putting together chunks of the trail as several awesome 15+ mile day hikes.
4. Beef jerky should not have white stuff on it.

“I’m going either way,” I emailed back.  I looked at the weather report on my phone.  40% chance of rain, “showers in the area”.  Tossing the phone on my nightstand I sit up.  I can hear the rain outside my window.

I walk into the bathroom and grab my contact lens case.  As I put my left contact lens in my eye I can hear my inner voice say, “Left-Eye Lopes”.  I have no idea why my personal narrative felt the need to mention a deceased 1990s pop icon.  I put in the other contact.  ”Right-Eye Rodriguez.”  I have no idea who that is…

After a couple more emails with Donnie, it is apparent that I am doing this hike solo.  Rain, poison oak, and crowds be damned…I’m heading to the Columbia Gorge!

Directions to the Trailhead

The trailhead for this hike is at Eagle Creek on the Oregon side of the Columbia Gorge.  Drive east out of Portland on I-84 to Eagle Creek (Exit #41) which is the first one after the exit for Bonneville Dam.  Take the ramp to the end and make a right.  I prefer to park right there at the parking lot on the left but you can follow the road for another half mile or so to the actual trailhead if you would like.  That section tends to get congested with cars which I find more annoying than it is worth.  Takes about an hour from Portland.

The Specs

• Distance:  6.09 miles each way (12.18 miles round trip)
• Elevation Gain: 1,200 feet
• Time to Hike:  5.5 hours for me with several photo and food stops
• Water Consumed: 2 liters
• Red Tape: The obligatory NW Forest Pass (or $5 day use fee) is needed for parking and a free backcountry permit is required for the later part of the hike – you can grab one about 4 miles up the trail
• Quick Description:  Long, relatively flat hike up the Eagle Creek Canyon ending at the amazing Tunnel Falls.

My Gear Highlights

• Osprey Manta 25 Hydration Pack
• Black Diamond Trail Trekking Poles
• Patagonia Torrentshell Jacket

Topo map from parking lot to Tunnel Falls.

My Hike

When I got to the parking lot it was still raining.  I put on my socks and boots, threw the raincover on my pack, and slid into my jacket.  I got out of the truck, pulled my hood over my head, popped in my headphones, and headed up the road to the beginning of the Eagle Creek Trail (#400).  As I trudged into the canyon, there was a steady, constant rain.  I was relatively dry but was sweating like crazy.  I don’t care how “breathable” your raincoat is, if it is warm (70 degrees today) and humid (it was raining) you are going to get sticky.  I hate sticky.

The view into the canyon opening from the parking lot. Currently raining.

After about a half of an hour I was getting into a pretty sheltered section of the canyon.  Sheltered enough to get out of my jacket and take the raincover off my pack.  The raincover is integrated into my pack so it just retracts back into it’s own little pouch in a matter of seconds.  I throw on my ubiquitous floppy hat and continue up the trail.  Another 10 minutes and the rain has stopped completely.  There are some clouds nestled right into the canyon, adding some softness to the quiet and peaceful setting.

The rain starts breaking up with some clouds hanging at eye level.

I trudge on trying to keep a decent pace.  Rarely do I feel the need to break out the trekking poles on this trail and they stay stashed away in my pack.  I blow right past Metlako Falls and cruise up to the insanely popular Punch Bowl Falls (upper and lower).  There is nobody there.  I keep on moving making the occasional stop to take only pictures that appear to be quick, lighted just right, or at the perfect angle.  I figure that I can always stop for more pictures on the way back down.

Moss covered rocks on the uphill side of the trail.

As I get past Upper Punch Bowl, I start passing backpackers on their way back down.  I was kind of surprised.  It had been raining up here all weekend so I had figured nobody would be up there.  No camping is allowed before the High Bridge so I was curious to see what I would find farther along the trail.  Just past the High Bridge I come across the first camping area.  One site out of the three there had a tent pitched.  From then on, every camping area that I passed had every site occupied.  I couldn’t believe how busy it was on such a day.

View back down the canyon from High Bridge with Eagle Creek far below.

Now that it was past 9am the trail was getting pretty thick with descending backpackers.  Every 10 minutes or so I pass another group.  I’ve been slugging water this whole time so I now have to pee.  The problem is that the trail is pretty narrow and there is thick brush on steep terrain on either side.  With the increased traffic, I start worrying about the show I might put on for an unsuspecting backpacker at the end of their trip.  When the coast seems clear, I bound off the trail for a few strides and take care of business.

This hike is really beautiful.  The canyon walls are steep and Eagle Creek has got a respectable volume of water flowing through it.  Not only is Eagle Creek cascading along, but every creek feeding into it usually ends with its own waterfall, crashing down the wall of the canyon.  There are several stream crossings but they are well maintained and several have bridges.  Although there are many waterfalls along this hike, only four of them have a name of which I am aware: Metlako, Punch Bowl, Loowit, and Tunnel.

Loowit Falls

A few miles past the High Bridge and you leave the Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area and enter the Columbia Wilderness area of the Mount Hood National Forest.  At this point you must sign in and grab a backcountry permit to hang from your pack.  No fee and no advanced registration required.

Backcountry sign-in area with guardian slug.

The trail heading around a corner.

Closeup of some natural steps along the edge of the trail.

After a little over 6 miles I get to Tunnel Falls.  Now the description that I had read said that the trail goes behind the waterfall.  No big deal.  I’ve seen that several times before in Oregon.  That is only kind of  accurate.  While yes, you do walk behind the waterfall, the passage is a 360 degree complete tunnel through the rock wall.  It is really surreal.  Because the inside of the tunnel is constantly dripping with water seeping though the rock, the inside edges are covered in ferns.  Not to mention that you have a unique vantage point about halfway up a waterfall that is over 160 feet of freefall.  Tunnel Falls is actually on East Fork Creek coming out of Wahtum Lake about 2,000 feet in elevation higher up on the top of the gorge.

First view of Tunnel Falls

Approaching the falls from the north. Notice the tunnel behind the waterfall.

Looking back from the south on the other side of the tunnel. The pool is about 80 feet below.

Lush green ferns growing inside the dripping tunnel.

I start making my way back down the trail.  I start passing day hikers.  Not too many this far up, but more than I was expecting.  After a while, I break off trail and work my way down to a rocky beach at the edge of Eagle Creek to eat my lunch by myself.  When I get back on the trail, there are more and more people.  I continue to hike all the way back to Punch Bowl.

Heading back down the trail. You can see where the wall has been chiseled back to create a path.

My lunch spot by the creek.

I hike down a spur trail to the top of Lower Punch Bowl Falls kicking myself for not stopping on the way up.  I wanted a picture of the beautiful upper falls on a day with such perfect light but was concerned about the number people I would find.  Luckily it had started to rain again and the creek bed itself is not sheltered.  There were several people heading back up as I was dropping down.  When I got to the rocky beach I came across a large group of high school kids organizing their backpacks.  Otherwise not too bad.  I got my pictures and headed back up to the trail.

Upper Punch Bowl Falls in the rain

I get back to the main trail and it is now annoyingly crowded.  It actually makes for interesting people watching.  At one point I saw a hipster wearing rolled up skinny jeans, Converse, and green horn-rimmed eyeglasses!  As I get to the spur trail for Metlako Falls I see a guy and girl running up the trail.  The dude is sans shirt showing off his shaved muscle-bound chest.

In some areas the water runs off the canyon wall above and splashes on the rocky trail.

When I finish vomiting I head down to the Metlako viewpoint.  Unfortunately the brush has limited the view of this lesser seen waterfall.  In order to get a good picture you need to go off trail a little bit past the viewpoint.

Metlako Falls

I head down the rest of the way back to my truck.  All in all, an enjoyable and laid back 12 miles.

Lessons Learned

• I probably could have gotten by a little more comfortably with a pair of trail sneakers instead of boots.  I wouldn’t really go with hiking sandals since, even on a rainy day, there are sections of the trail that are so sheltered that they are actually dry and dusty.  Sandals would probably get a little grimy (I thought that was spelled “grimey” but my spellchecker disagrees – whatever).
• I read a backpacking guidebook that mentioned that “more adventurous day hikers will make it all the way to Tunnel Falls”.  That’s crap.  A quick and determined pace could easily get you there in two hours.  If you want more distance and elevation gain, I would recommend continuing up to Wahtum Lake.  It is a couple additional miles each way and 2,000 feet of additional altitude, but if you have all day and calories to burn, why not?

As I was walking around with it in my hands, I strolled by the Hydration Packs section and saw the Mantas.  There is a 20L, 25L, and a 30L.  I ended up buying the 25L for three reasons:

1. 25L is big enough (20L too small)
2. It had a better front pouch configuration than the 30L
3. It was the only one in my size.

Here are the basic specs on the Manta 25 size S/M (for under 33in waist):

• Gear Capacity (cu. in./L):  1,300/22
• Weight:  2lb 11oz (1,217g)
• Dimensions:  19 x 10 x 10 inches
• Cost:  $139.00

The Review

Hydration

Let’s start with the 3L Osprey HydraForm Reservior that comes with the pack.  Now, I’ve been using CamelBak reserviors since 1998 and have always loved them but I have to say, there are some cool features with the Osprey version.  First is the shape.  The reservior itself is contoured to rest comfortably on your back and maintains it’s shape even when full.  One of my biggest complaint with previous reserviors is the feeling of having a water balloon strapped to your back when full.  I didn’t feel this at all.  It also integrates directly into a specialized compartment in the pack which also has the same shape.

Osprey HydraForm Reservoir made by Nalgene

Next is the integrated magnetic bite valve.  The cross strap buckle on the pack has a matching magnet that keeps the bite valve close at hand.  No more reaching around for that thing or having it dribble down your arm.  It has a shut off valve which I didn’t use since the bite valve has not started dribbling on me yet.  It also has a large mouth but I think all reserviors have that now.

Reservoir from the side. Notice the rigid contoured shape to fit your back.

Reservoir in its compartment (open)

Reservoir in its compartment (closed)

Main Compartment

The main compartment is a simple top load zippered pouch that runs the full length of the pack.  I like the reinforced loops at the end of all of the zippers making them easy to manipulate, even while wearing gloves.  The contouring mentioned above makes it a little difficult to fit anything rigid and rectangular – like a plastic food storage container.  Otherwise, nothing too special here.

View down the gullet of the main compartment

Reinforced zipper loops. Sorry about the blurry-vision.

Front Compartment

This is different from the Manta 30.  The front compartment is divided into two separately accessed zippered pouches.  The one on the right is a full pouch that runs the width of the pack.  No pockets or anything there.  The one on the left only runs halfway across and has a clip for keys.  I actually like this configuration.  Other packs have a front compartment that is just another pouch where everything settles at the bottom.  You either have to dig down from the top or unzip the thing entirely causing everything to dump out.  I have found this quite handy during use.  There is also a helmet holder where the zippers meet.  It is just a tight loop through which you thread the chin strap.  I haven’t tried it yet.  Seems like the helmet would bounce around alot.

Right side full width pocket

Smaller left side pocket. The key clip is hanging to the side with my emergency whistle attached.

Straps

Contoured shoulder straps with mesh, perforations, and foam in the appropriate places make them comfortable.  The chest strap is configured in such a way that you can buckle it with one hand.  The hip belt has some padding and some quite spacious (can fit a small digital camera) zippered pockets for easy access.

View of shoulder straps and mesh back panel. Notice the magnetic bite valve holder and the presence of a high end hand model.

Another feature specific to Osprey packs that I really like is the trekking pole storage.  You slide the pointed end of the poles through a loop at your left hip and then pass a loop on the left shoulder strap over the handles.  A quick tug on the loop adjustment and they are completely secured.  Super simple to do while wearing the pack.  This is great for rapidly changeing elevation where the need for trekking poles vary mile to mile.

Trekking pole loop on the left shoulder strap

Other Compartments

There is a small zippered pouch near the top of the pack that is soft-lined to protect scratch-prone items such as sunglasses and phones.  There is a front pocket with a stretch woven material and a buckle for quick stash bulky items.

The soft-lined accessory pouch at the top

A stretch woven pocket and compression straps on either side complete the storage.

Side pockets and compression straps. Notice the contoured shape of the pack and, if you look real hard, the mesh back spacer that keeps the pack from touching your back.

Other Features

The pack has an integrated rain cover that quickly drops out of the bottom and covers the whole pack quickly.  It has a mesh back system that sits against your back and holds the rest of the pack away from your body.  This works very well and keeps my back and the pack itself from becoming a sweaty mess.

Integrated raincover still attached by a strap. It slides right back into a dedicated pocket on the underside of the pack.

Recently I was using a pair of Leki poles that I had bought for my wife several years ago.  They were okay, but I was sick of the twist-lock mechanism on them.  Something about the way that I used them would make them unlock on me at random (and occasionally unfortunate) times.  I had heard great things about the trekking poles by Black Diamond with their Flick Lock system so I blew my dividend on a pair in April 2010.

Here are the basic specs on the Black Diamond Trail Trekking Poles:

• Weight:  20 oz (567g) for the pair
• Length when retracted:  68.6cm
• Length range for use:  100cm – 125cm
• Cost:  $79.95

The poles in their shortest position with detached snow baskets

The Review

I love these things.  First off, the Flick Lock is great.  Super simple to adjust on the fly.  Flip the lever (even with a gloved hand) to loosen and adjust, flip it back to lock it.  Two adjustment points on each pole with markings to assure proper desired length.

Locked

Unlocked

It has a foam grip and comfortable nylon straps at the handles to keep from losing one down a hillside.  I take these on every hike.  They are very light, easily stored and come in extremely handy when you need them.

Poles fully extended to 125cm

In the winter I throw on the snow baskets (included) and use them for snowshoeing.  They also come in really handy when snowboarding.  I bring one with a snow basket on deep powder days.  Any snowboarder who has fallen into powder knows the frustration of trying to get enough leverage against the soft snow (especially on a steep slope).  I just reach over my shoulder into my pack, pull out my trekking pole, and push myself upright.  I can also then use it to push off to get going again, although it makes me look like I’m navigating a Venetian gondola.

Fully extended with snow baskets attached

“It’s been a while, but why not?  I’ll go out with you.”  I dug through an old filing cabinet and found my PADI card and dive log book.

Side note for younger readers:  A “filing cabinet” was a metal box where one could “store” and “lock up” important “files” that were made of “paper”.

I thumbed through the log book.  My last logged dive was dated June 1997.  I pointed this out to Rob saying, “I might have difficulty getting someone to sell me air.  I’ll just play dumb and see if anyone notices.”  I started researching dive shops in San Diego and found the size of the list to be a bit overwhelming.  It was looking like it was going to cost at least $150 to rent then gear and join a guided group, assuming that there were available spots with only a couple of days notice.  A little steeper than I was hoping but, hey, how often do I have a good chance to go scuba diving?

I remembered that my friend Chris had just moved back to San Diego from Ohio and knew the area.  I sent him an email to see if he could recommend a good dive shop to set all of this up.  He replied that no, he didn’t.  ”…but I will be surfing every day that you will be in town.  If you want to join me any time, let me know.”

Hell yeah I’d like to join him!  I grew up surfing and had just mentioned to my wife that I would love to get back on a board again.  It had been 10 years but I figured that I would remember pretty quickly.  I have been snowboarding all winter every year for the last 10 years so the board riding skills were still there.  I just needed to get my sea legs back.  Besides, he had an extra board to loan me so the cost was next to nothing.

The view from my room in San Diego one morning. There weren't many pictures from the beach so I'm adding a couple other shots to break up the text...

“I’m going to bail on the diving.  I’m going to go surfing instead,” I notified Rob when we got to San Diego.

“No problem.  I’ll go diving with my daughter later in the week.”  His wife and kids were heading down after the conference to hang out for a week.  ”Mind if I come along?”

“Have you ever surfed before?” I asked.

“No.  Why, is it hard?”

I thought to myself.  Of course it’s hard!  You have to balance on a slippery, bouncing plank as it is being hurtled across the surface of the ocean by a wave with the power of a locomotive.  ”Nah, you’ll be fine.”

Since there were now three of us and only two boards, we needed to head to a surf shop to rent another board.  Rob and I decided to rent a couple wetsuits as well since, even down in San Diego, the Pacific can be a little chilly.  We shoveled down some really greasy street-food quesadillas which, in hindsight, was a bad idea.  Mixed with the 1.3 gallons of seawater that he would ingest that day, it came back that evening to take down Rob.

Chris gave Rob a quick land lesson on surfing and then we headed into the water.  The waves were 3-6 feet which was probably a bit much for a beginner like Rob.  It all came back pretty quickly as I headed out into the surf.  I looked for a low spot in the breaking waves to minimize the punishment.  Paddling a little further and I was now in the churned whitewater of the break zone.  As I moved into a crashing wave I pushed the nose of the board down and punched through to the other side.  I thrashed my arms to pick up speed for the next one and again ducked under the whitewater crest.  On the third one I paddled with everything I had and the wave passed under me unbroken.  The water was now navy blue underneath me – I was out past the breaking waves and approaching the lineup.

I stopped to catch my breath and looked around.  Chris was already waiting for me so I paddled over to him.  ”Phew!  I forgot how tiring that was.  Where’s Rob?”

We both looked around.  We spotted him surrounded by whitewater with the nose of his board sticking at least two feet out of the water.  He was clearly tired attempting to paddle out.  What little ground he was covering was quickly lost with each wave that was pounding him back.  ”We need to tell him to get that nose down,” I said.

“Yeah, but he won’t be able to hear us,” Chris replied.  ”He’ll get out here eventually.”  Chris and I discussed where our best position would be.  I was beyond rusty and had never surfed in California before.  This was also my first time on a longboard as well.  About five minutes had passed.  We looked around for Rob again…he hadn’t moved.  It was like he was paddling in place.  That said, there was a huge, tired smile on his face.

A picture of the USS Makin Island coming into San Diego Bay. The much bigger USS Carl Vinson is in the background. Another shot from my hotel room.

Chris caught a wave a took a short ride.  I frantically paddled trying to catch my first wave but the thing just passed right underneath me.  I was having a real hard time reading them.  Every wave that I swore was going to break on my head would pass another 10 yards before cresting.  Finally a larger wave began to break about 20 yards out from where I was sitting.  It was peeling very slowly and had lost a lot of energy by the time it reached me but I new it would be easy to catch.  I paddled hard and felt the wave take me.  I was all the way down the face before I tried to stand up.  Once on my feet I couldn’t turn the thing so I just decided to ride it straight.  When the wave died out, I leaned back letting the board shoot forward as I fell into the water.  I reached down for my right ankle, grabbed my leash, and pulled the board back to me.

When I got back on I looked for Rob.  He had made it out and was resting on his board next to Chris.  I paddled up and joined them.

“This one is perfect for you guys,” Chris shouted as a small wave was approaching us.  Rob and I turned towards shore and started paddling.  I felt the wave take me and I stood up a little earlier this time.  As I start to ride I see something out of the corner of my eye off my backside shoulder – it was Rob.  He was on his knees holding onto his board looking like a bullet fired from a gun with a surprised smile on his face.  I quickly lost my balance and tumbled off of my board into the water.

For the next hour or so I caught a couple waves having a pretty good time.  The waves that I caught were small and I looked like an uncoordinated mess but, hey, I enjoyed myself.  I moved in closer than the more experienced surfers to focus on the smaller waves.

After another of my countless failed attempts to catch a wave I glanced over my shoulder at the next one coming in.  It was a good size and moving in quickly.  I had to make a decision.  Here was my inner monologue:

Self 1:  That thing is going to break right on your head.

Self 2:  You’ve learned nothing today.  Every wave out here ends up breaking later than it appears.

Self 1:  You should flip over and let the wave break on the back of the board to give you some protection.

Self 2:  On the contrary my good self.  We are in the perfect position to catch this wave.

I faced toward the beach and took two strokes before I felt the back of the board quickly lift straight up underneath me.

Time stopped.

“Uh oh.”  My board was perfectly vertical.  The nose was buried in the trough while the tail was in the breaking crest.

For some reason I tried to keep myself from just rolling the rest of the way forward.  The wave took me from the board and thrust me straight down into the water.  I continued to fight the roll as I felt myself being pushed towards the beach.  My forehead struck the ocean bottom.  By this time I was moving more horizontally than vertically so the sensation was less of an impact and more of a scrape.  At this point, I let the wave roll me the rest of the way over.

When I popped up I saw Rob walking with his board in the shallow water.  ”Nice one!”  He was heading in to shore.

I felt me head.  ”Am I bleeding?”

“No, why?”

“It feels like I should be bleeding.”

“It looks fine from here.”  We made our way up onto the beach.  When Rob came up closer to me he said, “Oh wait.  Yeah, you’re bleeding.”

As I touched my head I was starting to see a little blood on my wet fingers.  It wasn’t gushing, just oozing like a scrape.  I was ready to call it a day.  We were running out of time anyway.  Rob needed to get back to the hotel to change then head to the airport to meet the rest of his family.  ”Where is Chris?”

He was back out in the lineup with a large group of surfers.  There was no way he would hear us from here.  The sea was currently calm between sets.  I figure “what the hell” and hopped back in to paddle out to the lineup.  ”I’ll get him.”

As I paddled out to Chris he said, “Hey man. How’s…Whoa!  What happened to you?” staring at my forehead.

“I read a wave wrong.  We need to get going.”

“Of course.  No problem.  The next wave I catch I’ll take all of the way in.”

The first wave of the set was rolling in and it was solid.  ”I’m heading in now,” I said.  ”If I catch this wave on the way, so be it.”  I started paddling and felt the wave begin to push me.  I really didn’t care if I caught it.  As it began to pass underneath I stood up and dropped down the face.  I just cruised along all the way in to shore.

Best ride of the day.

Rob (left) and Chris (right) at the end of the day.

I was at Mike’s house about a month after our Adams debacle (you may want to read that first), loading up my truck again.  This time it was just me and Mike taking another stab at climbing Adams from the north side.  It was early Friday morning and the plan this time was to park at Killen Creek trailhead and hike to high camp by that afternoon.  Alpine start at dark-thirty the next morning, climbing to the summit and back to camp by Saturday night.  Get up Sunday morning whenever and head back to Portland.  Short and sweet.

Trail map of this trip. Day 1 in red, day 2 in blue.

Now, the plan in June was to climb via the Adams glacier, a fairly technical route which would require ropes, ice screws, etc.  At this point Mike and I didn’t have much experience with setting up belays on an ice route so we looked for an alternate route.  The “non-technical” route from that side is supposed to be the North Cleaver.  Why did I insist on climbing from the north side?  Some weird aversion to the easier south side?  A desire to get the hell away from people?  Honestly, I have no idea.

The Adams Glacier (middle) that we intended to climb the month before.

So off we went, this time heading east through Hood River, across the Columbia and up to the ranger station in Trout Lake.  Twenty bucks each for permits, grabbed some blue bags, and we headed up FS 23 towards Mt Adams.  No snow, roads are open, sun is shining, we are pumped!  The drive up is fun.  Mike is a little bit of a music nerd so we get to listen to Cool Kids, Budos Band, and some obscure Beastie Boys tracks while discussing the merits of Mastodon and the song they did for the Aqua Teen Hunger Force movie.

So we are noticing that this road is totally paved.  About a mile or so before the turn off to FS 2329 the pavement stops.  “This was way smoother than the trip from Randle,” Mike remembered.  My truck was handling the rutted road a little better this time.  I had added a leaf to the rear springs of the truck over the past month which kept the bed from banging on the chassis.  It cost about $80 online and took about 30 minutes on each side to install, once I figured out how to do it.

We turned up FS 2329 and cruised up the rutted bumpy road to Killen Creek trailhead.  The same road that we spent two days hiking last month took less than an hour to drive.  There were a couple of cars already in the lot but no people in sight.

We organized our gear, slapped on some bug spray to fight off the swarms of mosquitoes, and headed down the trail.  After a mile or two we hit some snow which made trail finding a little difficult in the woods.  As long as we keep heading south, we should reach the tree line at about the same time that we hit the Pacific Crest Trail.  We hit the tree line, follow the PCT back to the Killen Creek Trail and continue on towards the high meadow.

First view of Mt Adams from the Killen Creek Trail.

The high meadow on the north side of Adams is one of the most beautiful areas that I have ever been.  Obviously you are in full view of Mt Adams, but the vista also includes Mt St Helens and Mt Rainer.  They look like they are right in your back yard.  A short walk gets you to small creek with a rocky waterfall.

Looking back towards the trailhead with Mt Rainier in the distance

Looking west with Mount St Helens on the left.

Small waterfall (on the left) with Mt Adams in the background.

After we set up our tent I stood on a little ledge to check out the amazing view.  The next thing I know a hummingbird comes flying up.  Now, I grew up in South Florida where insects are huge, aggressive, and able to fly.  Many are well over two inches long and make a loud buzzing sound as they come at you with the intent to carry you away and feed you their young (at least that is what I always assumed).  Because of this image burned deep into my psyche, the sight of a large, buzzing, flying creature – in this case a hummingbird – scares the living shit out of me.  I ducked, weaved, swatted blindly, then ran.  I may have screamed like a small girl but I refuse to confirm that.

Mike (red shirt on the ridge) exploring the area around our campsite.

View of Adams while exploring the area around the campsite

Mt Rainier from camp.

The rest of the afternoon was filled with some exploring followed by sitting on a rock reading a book (Neal Stephenson’s Quicksilver on this trip).  We ate dinner then tried to get to bed early for a 3:30am alpine start.  The weather is so nice that we leave the rain fly off revealing a beautiful clear night sky.

The location of our tent in relation to the scenery.

Looking north past our tent.

Our planned route the North Cleaver. It is the large ridge below the skyline on the left of the picture.

I hate alpine starts.  I’m a really bad night owl so, no matter how early I go to bed, I tend to fall asleep really late.  After about three hours of actual sleep I roll out of my bag and wolf down some PopTarts.  My pack was ready the night before so I just slung it on my back and was all set.  Mike had gotten up a little early to make some coffee and was ready when I was.

We head into the darkness towards the North Cleaver.  About a mile from camp, I have the urge to use one of those “blue bags”.  The blue bags provided at the Adams ranger station include a heavy duty paper bag (not blue ironically) full of kitty litter and a folded up piece of paper.  When you unfold the paper, it reveals a large target for you to aim your, um, release.  I head to the other side of a small rocky ridge to do what I had to do.  At this point I hear Mike say, “Pilot to bombardier.  Pilot to bombardier.”  It’s a nice image.

When I catch up to Mike he asks, “Where is your used bag?”

“I stashed it next to a rock.  I’ll get it on the way back.”

Early morning shot as we approach the foot of the North Cleaver.

We start working our way up the ridge.  Route finding is a little tricky but we keep working our way higher and higher.  The sun has come up and has started to beat down on us.  We get to what appears to be a dead end.  To the left was a steep drop to the Lava Glacier below, to the right is what appears to be a little less of a steep drop covered by a slippery mess of loose rock running out to a snowfield.  The information from our guide book simply says, “Follow the ridge until it tops out then head towards the summit.”

The North Cleaver with the Lava Glacier to the left. We crossed the little snowfield in the foreground then got stuck at that next rise.

“Uh, what the hell?”  Mike and I are stuck.  Going out onto the Lava Glacier would require backtracking to an easier access point then putting our crampons back on since there is a fairly steep grade and a long way down before it flattens out again.  It also appears that once we were on the glacier, we would be unable to get back onto the ridge.

The wall that is blocking our path continues to the right as a buttress for about 20 yards down the side of the cleaver.  Since this did not appear to be as steep as the left side, we decide that we should head down that slippery slope to the right to see if we can get around the buttress and back onto our planned route.

We start heading down and the rock is even looser that we expected.  The grade is significant and really has me nervous.  I am thrilled when I catch up to Mike at a point where we can cross the buttress.  Mike looks concerned.  On the other side, the North Cleaver has continued higher as we have lost some altitude.  The return is even steeper than what we had just descended and covered with the same loose rock followed by a significant face.  We don’t have a rope and, even if we did, there is no real place to set up an anchor system.  “Fuck,” I said.  “I’m not going up that.”

“Well, we could keep traversing and see how it looks on the other side of the next ridge,” Mike suggested.  It is more of the same large loose rock crossing the same significant grade for about 300 yards.

It takes a solid hour to cross to the next ridge.  Mike, again there well before I am, has that same look on his face.  This next face is even steeper and more technical.  There is another gully to cross but there would be no getting over the next ridge.  I look at my watch – 10:30am.  This is taking us forever.  We were hoping to be at the summit by now and we have almost 3000 vertical feet still to go with no obvious route.  The fastest option would be to head up that loose rock to the wall of the North Cleaver and hope that there is some workable way up.  Our recent experience on this crap suggests that it would be at least another hour just to get to the wall.  Even if it is Class IV rock, the exposure would keep me from climbing it without a rope.

“There is no way that we are getting to the summit and back down the North Cleaver by nightfall,” I pointed out.  I had read that this route was extremely unpleasant on both ascent and descent and wanted nothing to do with it in the dark.

We start to consider aborting the climb.  That is definitely an option but we are really kind of stuck where we are.  Going back the way that we came would clearly be sketchy.  The simplest way out was down.  The snowfield below was riddled with rocks and boulders that had fallen from the ridge on which we were awkwardly standing.  The first step downward causes a little slide.  “This is going to suck.”

We space ourselves out and take separate lines to avoid one person falling into the other.  We try to move quickly working with the small slides that we are creating.  Just above the snowfield it becomes extremely steep with a large collection of previously fallen rocks.  After contemplating this last part I decide to just go for it.  I slide down in an ungraceful, bruised, scrape-covered heap.

Flop.  I’m on the flatter snowfield.  Mike soon joins me and we move quickly to get out of the crosshairs of future rockfall.  Soon we hear the telltale sounds of rocks coming down the wall above us.  I look over my shoulder and see three mountain goats, an adult and two juveniles working their way across the same section that we had traversed earlier in the day setting loose little rock avalanches as they go.  “Why are those goats trying to kill us?” I asked.

The pool where we split up. Mike is the dot on the left.

It takes us a little over an hour to cross the flat uneventful snowfield.  We come to a large pool that we had passed on our way up.  To the right is the way we had ascended; to the left is more snowfield followed by a rocky ridge.

“You know, if I remember correctly, our campsite is right on the other side of that ridge,” offered Mike.

“If I remember correctly, the other side of that ridge is tall and steep,” I replied.  “Besides, that’s about a mile away.  If you’re wrong and we can’t climb down it, it’s a long walk back to the trail.”

“I think it’s worth a shot.”

“Well, we have walkies, why don’t you head over there and I’ll keep heading down the trail?  I’ve got a bag to retrieve down this way anyway.”  Mike headed off.  I plopped down in the snow and had a snack while I watched Mike continue down the snowfield.  Just before he made it to the ridge I gathered up my gear and headed around the pool and down to the next snowfield.

My walkie came alive.  “This is totally doable.  I can definitely pick my way down this safely.”

“Great!  I’ll meet you at the tent.”  I headed down and around the next couple ridges.  As I came up on the final approach to camp, I could see Mike off in the distance on my left.  We each had a straight line back to camp, he with a pretty sizable lead.

Parting shot before I headed back to camp.

Mike got back to the tent about a half an hour before I did.  He had already re-organized his pack with the gear that he had left at camp that morning.  “We have plenty of daylight left.  Do you want to head back to the truck?” I asked.

Close up map of Day 2 (in blue).

“Might as well.”  We packed up the tent and headed back to the pick-up and home.

Lessons learned:

1. Invest in boots that are officially crampon compatible.  This was the last alpine trip that I did in my lug soled backpacking boots.  Crampons do work okay with lug soled leather boots, but putting them on and taking them off is a real pain.  We kept switching from steep, hard packed snowfields to long rocky ridges.  Had switching in and out of them been less of a hassle, we probably would have dropped onto the Lava Glacier which may have been a better route.  When I finally purchased a pair of mountaineering boots, it made all the difference on later climbs.
2. Do not ascend the North Cleaver.  It simply sucks.  If you want a non-technical route, head to the south side.  If you plan to climb the north side, go early in the season and climb one of the glaciers to the top.
3. Blue bags are a bad option.  There is no way to pack them out without stinking up your whole bag.  I have heard that sticking the used bag in an empty Pringles can will help with that problem, but I haven’t tried it.  In my opinion, they should be used as a last resort.  If you can, head down below the treeline and dig a cathole.