5:14 PM Wed, Sep 30, 2009 | Permalink |
Sensing summer was on its last legs, I headed for the hills last weekend before they became cloaked in white. I aimed high -- specifically 12,276 feet high, the elevation of Washington's second-tallest peak, Mount Adams.
So with a promising forecast in my back pocket, I anointed this my "Second Annual Mount Adams Climb Because It's There" climb.
Even though Adams is second only to Mount Rainier among Washington's highest mountains, it's sometimes called a forgotten volcano.
No doubt it's in a tough area to get noticed, losing out to its more popular neighbors Rainier, Mount St. Helens and Oregon's Mount Hood. It's farther east than most of the other Cascade volcanoes and so not as visible from the I-5 corridor. And it's definitely not easy to get to from Seattle. Drive to Hood River, OR, head north until you're off the grid and a mere 5 hours later you're there.
Unlike many other well-glaciered volcanoes, Adams has one non-technical route that can be done as a long day hike without equipment. Last year, the South Climb route took me to the summit in a little over four and a half hours and I enjoyed a long lunch under a canopy of blue.
Consider that climbing Rainier is at least a two-day slog to a summit enclosed in near-perpetual winter, and Adams offers many of the benefits of its larger volcanic brother with less time and strain. The views aren't bad either; last year I could see 11 volcanoes from Adams' summit, including the one under my feet.
I headed out in the dark around 6 a.m. Saturday. The first mile or so is a wide trail through progressively thinning forest. The trees eventually give way to open rocky slopes that offer 180-degree views. As dawn broke, Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens appeared, bathed in pink hues. Edging higher, Oregon's volcanic Mount Jefferson and the Three Sisters come into view behind Hood.
The "trail" eventually becomes diffuse after the trees disappear and you're just picking your way among volcanic boulders and gravel. It was hard on my knees, especially when unstable rocks rolled away under my weight and bucked me several times. There's a reason why this climb is popular earlier in the season when it's covered in snow and skiers and boarders barrel down 5,000 feet of vertical.
A strong west wind picked up as I gained elevation; marine air was pushing back at the offshore flow that had brought us last week's warmth. I suspected they would strengthen as I got higher. I was right.
By the time I achieved a false summit above 11,000 feet, I felt like a giant hand was pushing me along. Reaching the true summit 5 hours after I started, I couldn't hear myself think amid the roar of the strongest winds I've ever withstood. 70 mph gusts kept me from staying upright, so I huddled behind an abandoned fire lookout that's the shape of a parallelogram under the weight of ice and snow. I had the summit to myself as I pondered who else would want to be there. I staggered into the wind to snap a few pictures, quickly ate lunch and started my descent. At least the visibility was great -- I had a 10-volcano day in my sights.
I ran into a group of climbers on my way down who asked about the winds. I recommended they edge east on the mountain where they would be relatively sheltered from gusts. They thanked me and commented I was the best meteorologist they had seen in weeks. I didn't tell them what I do for a living, but I was more than happy to share information about my forgotten volcano. Sure enough, Adams is now covered in snow, but I'm already looking forward to my third annual climb next year.
Ed - another very nice entry. However, in this episode, we discover that E. Muir is nuts. The wind up there: it was too much. Reading blog was uncomfortable. I can't do it again next year.