Author: Kelsey Shaw

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Geeking out on the Mountains

Interview with Colin Haley. Colin credits most of his success in climbing to this early apprenticeship in the most rugged mountains available in the Lower 48. He strives to maintain a relatively high level in every discipline of climbing, from bouldering, to El Cap routes, to highly-technical alpinism, to high-altitude slogging. While Seattle is still technically his home, he spends much more time in his three favorite towns on three separate continents: El Chaltén, Argentina, Squamish, BC, and Chamonix, France. By Joe Fox.


Can you pinpoint a moment perhaps in time or in your own thinking about the sport of mountaineering, when you took a conscious step away from being a hobbyist and toward being a true professional, expert, master?
Pretty much ever since I was 12, 13, 14 years old I wanted to make climbing my life and I wanted to raise my skills as high as I could and do the hardest climbs I could. It’s not like I was a climber for a long time who wasn’t ambitious, and then all of the sudden decided “ohh, I’m gonna start taking this seriously.” I’ve always been ambitious with climbing, it’s not something that happened at any one point.

My relationship with climbing, in terms of what it means to me and how seriously I take it has pretty much always been the same.

How did you get into it so early?
I’ve been backpacking and skiing and backcountry skiing and all that stuff since I was super young. Like I have no memory of learning how to ski, for instance. So I’ve always been doing stuff in the mountains. And then around when I was 10 years old my dad started taking my brother and I mountaineering.

How do you regard your own mortality? Do you think about death, given the extreme risks involved in this sport?
Yeah, I do. I’ve had a lot of friends and climbing partners who have died. Some of them quite close, people I’ve climbed with a lot, and some of them just acquaintances. And I think it would be delusional to do the type of climbing that I do, with the frequency that I do it, and not realize that that inherently exposes me to a lot of risks in the mountains, regardless of how careful I am and how smart of decisions I make. I mean, I accept that. Everyone accepts risk at some level for the climbing they do. I really don’t want to die climbing. I’d like to live to get old. And so I do everything I can to minimize those risks, which is of course a balance with trying to achieve the things you want to do. But I know there’s a possibility that I would die in the mountains. And I accept that. Someone who claims otherwise is not being realistic and conscious.

What motivates a climb like your remarkable recent free solo, 12 hour and 29 minute, ascent of the Infinite Spur on Mount Foraker in Alaska?
Well, I had been scheming to solo the Infinite Spur for at least five years. Climbing it with Rob Smith, beforehand, kind of confirmed for me that it was something that I wanted to do. But … I don’t really think that deciding to solo the Infinite Spur has any great difference in motivation from anyone going and climbing mountains. Because I’ve dedicated my life to climbing mountains, doing something that puts me in a place where I feel really challenged and really excited about the goal, is going to of course be a different sort of scenario than someone who has much less climbing experience. But I think that the general search for this challenge, and this intensity of experience in an extreme environment, is the same whether it’s a beginner going up The Tooth, or me trying to solo the Infinite Spur.

There are a lot of different esoteric fields of knowledge that help the mountaineer’s lifestyle. What do you geek out on the most? What’s the “shop talk” conversation that you could have with any climber in the world, no problem?
Hmm … tons. I’m a total geek in general. And I can say very confidently that that aspect of alpinism, the fact that there’s such a mental side to it, and such a geeky side to it, in terms of logistics and scheming how to go about things, is definitely one of the biggest reasons why I like alpine climbing. It’s not just running a hundred meter dash, or sport climbing, which are very distilled athletic activities. But it also has this very big mental component to it. It’s a very big part of why I like climbing mountains.

In terms of what I like geeking out on? Tons of things. Everything from how to train efficiently, to what to eat while on a climb, to how to use your stove in the most fuel efficient way possible, to how to make your gear lighter, to how to use different belay techniques to be more efficient. I mean, the list could go on and on and on. But everything from using knowledge of chemistry, to physics, to physiology.

What’s something that you’ve been turned onto recently or learned recently that has helped you?
I mean this will get pretty geeky pretty fast. But have you used isobutane stoves much in cold weather?

Umm … yes not with a lot of luck, but …
Yeah, they don’t work that well in the cold, because of pv=nrt—you know, decreasing pressure in the canister causes the canister to get colder, which lowers the pressure even more, and, you know, your stove just stops working very well.

About 20 years ago, the canisters that we would get for these kinds of stoves were pure isobutene, and then about 20 years ago or 15 years ago, they started making them a mix of isobutane and propane. And the reason they do that is because propane has a higher vapor pressure than butane. So it creates more pressure in the canister and helps the stove function better in cold weather. But they can’t make it all propane because then there would be too much pressure in the canister when it’s warm out, and you would risk having the canister explode. And so it’s this balance. But one thing you might have noticed sometimes is you put a fresh canister on the stove, and it works really well for a while, and then all of the sudden it starts working really poorly. It’s not like this slow gradual taper, it just sort of falls off a cliff at some point. And I just recently learned why, and it’s because when the canister is sitting upright, the propane is mostly in a gaseous form at the top of the canister, and the butane is mostly in a liquid form at the bottom of the canister, and so basically you burn off all the propane first, and then all of the sudden the pressure inside the canister drops because it’s mostly butane that’s left.

Wow, and can you mitigate that effect by shaking the canister up, or something like that?

Umm, shaking it up wouldn’t work, but that is why turning the canister upside down can be helpful. Which I had heard years ago, and I had tried turning the canister upside down, and I was like well, it doesn’t really seem to get much better, so I thought that must be wrong. And that’s because when the canister is full, having it upside down or right side up won’t really make much of any difference, but having it upside down should theoretically make a difference over the longevity of the canister because when it’s upside down you’re mostly exiting butane out of the canister because it’s in liquid sitting at the bottom, and the propane higher up is maintaining that pressure inside the canister to help push the butane out, and so by turning the canister upside down you’re not getting rid of the propane straight away, you’re keeping it in the canister for longer. I told it would get geeky fast, so …

Wow. Yeah, I love it. I love it. That’s great.

But that’s something that I learned recently, that I thought was very interesting, and I thought could have a positive effect on my ability to climb mountains.

So, did you discover that when talking to somebody else, or did you just read about that?

I discovered that when talking to somebody else. There’s a guy who I met because he’s in the Alpine Mentors Pacific Northwest Program and I volunteered a couple days for that, a couple of years ago. His name is Alex. He’s doing a PhD in some field of chemistry and we were talking about this stuff, and he explained that to me.

On bringing his iPod shuffle up the Infinite Spur …

I don’t listen to music when I’m doing properly technical climbing. At that point I want to hear, you know, how my crampons sound when I’m putting them on a hold, and all these little things. But when I’m doing less technical climbing like just pounding up a 50 degree ice slope, or just walking up a glacier, or ski touring or something, I love listening to music. And I feel that if I’m listening to music, I can be putting out a really high cardio effort and it doesn’t feel as much like an effort, it’s just so much fun.

What are you listening to on those trips? What is some of your “high energy” music?

A few examples of some of the artists that are on the Shuffle, some of it’s guitar like Tool and Alice in Chains, some of it’s electronic stuff like Sub Focus and Knife Party, some of it’s dark in between stuff like Nine Inch Nails, some of its techno, some of its dubstep, some of it’s drum and bass, some of it’s metal, some of it’s grunge.

Do you ever think of doing a “Snow Slog Playlist” a la Barack Obama?

Haha Not really. But yeah I could some time. That’d be a cool idea. Maybe I should. I’ll make a blog post about it.

On his goals for his presentation at next month’s Portland Alpine Fest?

My general guideline is that I try to put together a slideshow that I know I would be psyched to watch. So probably, I think that most of the people at my slideshows whether they are beginners or not will enjoy it, but I think the people that like my slideshows the most are the ones who are like me – climbers who are fully in the grips of the alpine climbing addiction, just can’t get enough, and are super excited about it and dream of all these things they want to do. Yeah, I think my slideshow is catered more to them than anyone else.

I love giving slideshows in the Northwest because it’s my home turf as a person, and also because the audience is full of people that really love the mountains, and really know the mountains, and that just makes for a fun energy.


Learn More & Get Tickets at portlandalpinefest.org

Colin’s Schedule at the Portland Alpine Fest:

  • Moving Fast in 5th Class Terrain (Clinic) Nov. 18, 9 a.m.–noon at the MMC (Full!)
  • Beyond Waterfalls (Clinic) Nov. 18, 1–4 p.m. at the MMC
  • Beyond Waterfalls (Clinic) Nov. 19, 9 a.m.–noon at the MMC
  • Ski Mountaineering: Mixing Skis with Ice Axes (Seminar) Nov. 19, 12:30–2 p.m. at the Mountain Shop
  • The Summit: An Evening with Colin Haley & Sasha DiGiulian, Nov. 19, 5–10 p.m. at Revolution Hall
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A Climber Gone to the Dogs

Ranger post rescue prior to being portaged
back to the trailhead.

by Bruce Wyse

I had been a volunteer dog walker at the Oregon Humane Society (OHS) for a couple of years while at the same time working my way up a few peaks with my fellow Mazamas. One day, I was chatting with one of the other dog walkers, describing the training I was going through in Intermediate Climbing School (ICS). She mentioned that it sounded a bit like what the OHS Technical Animal Rescue team (known as OHSTAR) does and encouraged me to check them out. Intrigued, I applied for a spot on the team and started to attend their training and got a look at their “3:1 mechanical advantage rescue haul system”. The hardware is different: bigger, heavier, and a bit more complex, but it still seemed like a fancy name for a crevasse rescue “Z-system” to me. I guess mountaineers are just in the habit of shortening everything, including the names of things, if they think it will lighten the load in their pack.

During their once-a-month trainings I melded with the team and “learned the ropes” (pun intended). OHSTAR uses rescue procedures similar to many SAR groups (the group’s technical advisor is a long time PMR member). The basic skills overlap a bit with some of the mountaineering techniques learned in the Mazamas: knot work, wrap three pull two, being mindful of your angles, don’t step on the rope, etc. Added to these familiar items is more complex gear and procedures such as mirrored rope systems, mechanical ascenders and friction devices. There is a lot of cool gear that would make a gear head’s eyes light up (at least until they realize that they would have to divvy up an extra 50 pounds of group gear amongst a climb team). Since dogs are not people (despite what many of their owners believe) there are also extra skills involved with animal rescue, such as animal harnessing, that go beyond the

A dark and stormy night: rescuer (center in white helmet) 
makes final preparations before lowering down to Eagle Creek.

standard SAR bag of tricks—most important is to know animal behavior. How do you convince an animal that the strange big headed person with the glowing eye (a helmeted rescuer with a head lamp), who dropped from the sky (was lowered down a cliff), and is carrying numerous odd rattling objects (is decked out with gear) is a friend and came to help? (The secret is to be patient, carry treats, and a muzzle).

Once on the team I started to assist on a few rescues: scouting locations, schlepping gear, setting up, and hauling rope and a couple of times I got the nod to be the rescuer (i.e. the guy on the pointy end of the rope). We’ve done rescues both in the backcountry and within the Portland metro area. I’ve done technical roped ascents into trees to rescue distressed cats, helped capture injured geese for treatment at the Audubon society, and have done joint human/animal rescues with PMR and PNWSAR. There have been many memorable moments but a couple rescues stand out in particular.

Sandy’s Christmas Miracle

A Christmas miracle: Sandy is retrieved from Eagle Creek. 

It was a dark and stormy night (literally). It was also Christmas. While most of us were feasting and celebrating with family and friends, a merry gentleman, while hiking along the Eagle Creek trail in the Columbia River Gorge, lost control of his dog Sandy. The yellow lab plunged 150 feet down the cliff and was perched precariously on a ledge above the creek. The call went out and eight team members were able to respond on this holiday evening. Night had fallen, along with plenty of drizzly Oregon rain, by the time the team assembled, divvyed up the gear, and moved up to the rescue site.

Coincidentally the dog had fallen only about 50 yards from a point where we did another rescue just a month earlier. That other site, at a bend in the trail with convenient stout trees for anchors and a good work space to set up the haul system, was a decent place to operate. This one, with a cliff down one side, a steep slope up the other, and a narrow trail in the middle… not so much. The team tossed around some ideas and eventually came up with a feasible plan based on some anchors I’d once helped build while assisting a BCEP class at Horsethief Butte. A teammate and I went back down the trail where the slope was a bit less steep and scrambled up above our rescue site. While trying not to knock loose rocks (or ourselves) down upon our teammates below, we rigged up an anchor with one of our ropes to a couple of fir trees. After rappelling down the rope back to the trail we made anchor points for the haul systems and were then able to lower J.T., the rescuer, who was then able to harness and secure the dog. That was the easy part (relatively speaking). We had a very narrow working space for our mechanical advantage setup (the “Z”) and it was a short hand over hand pull, pull, “reset”… over and over again until at last the dog and rescuer were back up on the trail. Miraculously (a Christmas miracle you might say) the dog was without serious injury and was able to walk back (now securely leashed) down to the trail head.

Ranger’s Happy Ending

It was neither dark nor stormy, it wasn’t even night. It was a rare occasion for OHSTAR as the usual callouts happen after a person and their animal out enjoying some daytime fun in the forest get into trouble. By the time someone can get to where they have phone reception and the call goes through the emergency response system and the rescue team is assembled at the trail head, night has fallen. 

The day prior to this particular occasion Ranger, an 80 pound mastiff mix, while nosing through the underbrush (as dogs like to do) fell more than 100 feet over a cliff at Butte Creek Falls. The local fire department in Silverton, Oregon was unequipped to perform a rescue. After going through various channels OHSTAR got called out the following day. The dog had fallen off one side of a rock promontory that jutted out into Butte Creek. Joshua Osmun, Mazama member Jeff Nastoff, and I were able to scramble down one side and rig up a fixed line to traverse the cliff below the falls, enabling us to reach the dog and better assess the situation. Ranger had been lying beside the rushing water all night. He was cold, tired, hungry, and most obviously in pain from the exposed bone sticking out of his shoulder (as well as other injuries we could not see). Still, Ranger had the decency to be courteous (his exhaustion and my handful of treats probably helped).

Ranger, post-rescue and post-surgery stops
by OHS to show the author some gratitude.

Conditions were too hazardous to attempt to bring him up the way we came down so we scrambled back up and the team formulated a plan. Our seven member team set up a haul system for a vertical lift about 100 feet from the cliff face, the closest anchor points, and I geared up to go over the edge.

Once I reconnected with the dog I signaled to the team to bring me back up. Ranger was very compliant, harnessed up and hooked to the ropes, as we dangled beneath an overhang at the bottom of the cliff while waiting for the team to reset the haul system. However, I smelled trouble in the air.

More specifically, I smelled skunk in the air and started praying that the team would quickly reset and get us out of there before someone decided that we were unwelcome guests in their home. Luckily it turned out to be a non-event. We got Ranger safely to the top of the cliff and littered him back to the trailhead. His owner later told us that after about $10,000 worth of surgeries he was again a happy dog.

It is a very rewarding feeling being part of a team and providing relief not only to an animal in distress but also the people who care for them. The best advice I can give to people who travel with dogs in the back country is that if you are traveling in hazardous or unknown terrain keep your dog leashed (it’s like putting yourself in a position to be lucky).

Whether it is front country or back country, contact the Oregon Humane Society Technical Animal Rescue if your pet, or someone else’s, is trapped or stranded and needs help. Trained OHSTAR volunteers can evacuate injured pets from wilderness areas, retrieve pets stranded on cliff sides, river banks, and other areas and structures that can only be accessed safely using ropes, climbing gear and other technical rescue equipment or extricate animals trapped in enclosed spaces whose lives are in danger.

Contacting OHSTAR
Monday-Friday, daytime hours: 503-416-2993
Evenings and weekends: 503-849-5655
In cases of emergency, please call your local police department.

About the Author: Bruce Wyse retired from the Army, returned home to the Pacific Northwest, and considers himself on permanent vacation. He started volunteering with the Oregon Humane Society in 2009. He joined the Mazamas in 2010. When not out with these fine organizations he can usually be found exploring in the wilderness with his Red Heeler, Sasha.

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Evolution of a Climber

by Kerry Loehr

This is my story, my evolution. One man’s journey from flailing on rock to being the proud new owner of a shiny trad rack. So if you don’t feel like you can rock climb, stick with it. You may surprise yourself.

Growing up in Southeast Portland I didn’t fully appreciate the tremendous opportunities afforded to me. Sure, I grew up skiing on Mt. Hood, but it wasn’t until I moved back from living in Ohio for four years that I truly appreciated the Pacific Northwest—the ocean, the high desert, and especially the mountains. I was 30 years old and I had yet to climb any of the glaciated peaks I grew up gazing at from afar.

I resolved to start “small” with Mount St. Helens. Note to any new climbers, do not do St. Helens in the fall unless you really really like scree. Next up was Mt. Hood. That was an eye opener!

Having a few summits under my belt, I started hearing about this group called the Mazamas. Hood also made me realize I needed to make sure my skills were solid if I wanted to keep climbing, which I most undoubtedly did. I was lucky enough to meet a group of Mazama mentors who took me under their wing. I joined the Mazamas and kept climbing with my new friends. Bigger mountains and harder routes were my goal, but still my focus was solely on glaciated peaks. Summits of Mt. Adams and Mt. Shasta followed, along with the Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP).

BCEP was great, I learned valuable skills, met new friends, and was introduced to rock climbing. I have to admit, though, the rock sessions (especially Horesthief) were not my favorites. I was terrible at rock climbing, pure and simple. I was comfortable on snow, but rock baffled me. Still, I endeavored to climb at the Portland Rock Gym occasionally. Results were poor, and frustrating. It wasn’t until my climbing mentors brought me along on a climb of Unicorn Peak in the Tatoosh Range near Mt. Rainier that it started to make sense.

For those unfamiliar, Unicorn is a “mixed” alpine climb that involves steep snow slopes on the approach and a low 5th class single rock climbing pitch at the top. It was challenging, but my whole climbing world opened up then and there. I now understood why people rock climbed! Mixed climbs were now my jam.

Fast forward, I climbed a few single pitches at Smith Rock (still flailing), and then was fortunate enough to get invited to a climb of Liberty Bell in the North Cascades. Wow. Just wow! Still, to this day, one of my all time favorite climbs. 3.5 pitches of alpine rock climbing. I seconded a very skilled Eugene Lewins up that route, and it forever changed me as a climber. The beauty, the challenge, the problem solving all came together. I wanted to be a rock climber. Who would have guessed that?!

A series of resolutions followed: more gym climbing, to become a lead climber, and to take the Mazama Advanced Rock (AR) Program. I’m pleased to say I’ve achieved all of those goals now. I just graduated AR this year and I am stoked! In fact, I’m writing this from Ashland, OR having just climbed the Cosmic Wall on Mt. Hubris in northern California. That’s four successful climbs in four weeks, leading Unicorn Peak, climbing Mt. Hood, swapping leads on Ingalls Peak, as well as the Cosmic Wall. Not a bad summer so far!

I’m comfortable leading trad climbs, and now truly have freedom to do a lot of what I think are cool things in the moutains. Along the way I have had many mentors, developed skills, and have climbed with new and old friends.

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Slag Heaps of the Cascades

by Darrin Gunkel

Negotiating the rubbley slopes of North Sister.
Photo: Kevin Machtelinckx. 

Unless you happened to watch St Helens blow its top, or until you’ve actually been up one, Cascade volcanoes telegraph permanence. At the very least, they look pretty solid. Maybe it’s that classic pyramid shape like the one on the back of a dollar bill that suggests solidity. Broad-shouldered enough to support massive rivers of ice, they must be made of tough stuff. But when you get up there and hit that band of cruddy stuff below Broken Top’s summit block, you start to wonder. How do these things even stand up if they’re filled with junk like this?

The stuff these mountains are made out of is actually quite hard: the andesite and rhyolite making up the bulk of the big peaks is chemically the same material as granite and diorite (which, to the untrained eye, looks like granite.) They come from the same magma, the only difference being where they cooled; the former above ground and the latter below. These are mixes of quartz and other tough minerals baked together at intense temperatures and pressures deep in the earth and then fused in post-eruption cooling. So why all the cruddy rock? Weathering is the short answer. Rain, glaciers, and the freeze-thaw cycle that pries cliffs and boulders apart all take their toll. Another threat comes from what put those rocks there in the first place: the volcano itself.

Mineral content of volcanic rocks. Credit:
The Earth Through Time, 8th Edition, Harold Levin.

Big fire mountains don’t just snuff out like a candle. While volcanoes can take tens of thousands of years to go extinct, the pools of magma that feed them can take millions of years to cool into solid granite and diorite. After a mountain stops erupting new lavas, it can chuff away for a very long time. And it’s that chuffing that really does damage to the hard minerals that make up the rock. How so?
There are those who like to point out that Mt. St. Helens is one of the biggest sources of hydrogen sulfide pollution in the Pacific Northwest. All volcanoes emit it to some degree or another. It’s the gas that makes the trek into Mt. Hood’s crater such an aromatic, and at times irritating experience. Cook andesite and rhyolite long enough with hydrogen sulfide and it turns to mud—technically clay. Hence the gloppy stuff that sticks under your crampons in Hood’s crater—hard to believe, but this essentially started out as granite. Once eruptions of hard new lavas end, hydrogen sulfide can continue to vent long enough to turn a mountain’s innards to mush. So, while glaciers and other elements are gnawing our volcanoes from the outside, volcanic gasses are slowly digesting them from the inside.

Basalt at 6,500 feet in the Goat Rocks. Photo Darrin Gunkel.

It doesn’t help, either, that not all lavas are created equal. Ever wonder how basalt, the resilient rock that forms headlands like Cape Lookout, could flow 375 miles from its source in Idaho to reach the sea? And why do rhyolite and andesite pile up to 14,410 feet (Rainier actually maxed out at 16,000 feet before the most recent glaciations shaved it down)? Lava viscosity is dictated in part by how much silica it contains. Basalt is on the low end, and rhyolite the high end of the silica content scale. Sticky rhyolite erupts very differently than fluid basalt. It has a tendency to explode, shattering nearby rocks and itself, raining down in fragments. That, or it erupts cascades of rubbley clinkers, the kind of ankle breakers that make late season climbers on the Sisters wish they’d scheduled their climb before the snows melted.

We owe big thanks to andesite for cementing it all together. Andesite lands between rhyolite and basalt on the silica and viscosity spectrums. Tough andesite is what allows our big mountains to soar and provides nice, solid layers full of fabulous holds among those bands of weaker rock. Erosion resistant basalt makes the occasional appearance, too. Check out the post piles along the Pacific Crest Trail near Cispus Pass in Goat Rocks to see a fine example of the relatively rare high altitude basalt flow. Without the help of andesite and basalt, summiting our slag heaps would be an even bigger, if no less rewarding, chore.

Want to dive deeper into the subject? Fire Mountains of the West, the Cascade and Mono Lake Volcanoes (Mountain Press Publishing Company, 2005) by Stephen Harris is a great primer on the geology of Cascade volcanoes, including biographies of the major peaks. If you can find it, the original version, published by the Mountaineers as Fire and Ice: The Cascade Volcanoes, is an even better read with better graphics. And for a more general back grounder on Pacific Northwest geology, try Hill Williams’ The Restless Northwest, a Geological Story (Washington State University Press, 2002).

About the author: A Mazama since 2013, Darrin Gunkel moved to the Pacific Northwest in 1993 with nothing in his car but camping gear, a pair of binoculars, and a copy of Fire Mountains of the West: the Cascade and Mono Lakes Volcanoes. A mania for up close views of volcano geology and access to dark night skies propel much of his climbing.

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Mazama Members: Two Proposed Bylaws Changes

by Steve Hooker, Mazama President
On your Mazama ballot this fall you’ll find two proposed bylaw changes regarding dues. Dues were last increased more than 10 years ago while cumulative inflation over that period has been nearly 20 percent.
The first proposed bylaw change would increase dues from $60 to $72 per year for regular members. Students, members over 60 who have been members for 5 years, and spouses or domestic partners of regular members would still pay half this rate, or $36 per year. If approved by our membership this change would go into effect for new members in October 2016 and in 2017 for those renewing.
Your Executive Council unanimously supports this proposal and here are a few of the reasons why:
  • The Mazamas is a financially healthy organization in part because we have several different sources of income. While program fees, contributions, and grants from the community continue to grow, member dues still represent about 12 percent of our annual revenue. This is down from 19% in 2006.
  • Even as dues have remained unchanged for ten years, expenses like insurance, utilities, maintenance, supplies, and outside services have gone up each year.
  • The Mazama Mountaineering Center serves more than twice the number of events, classes, and programs than in 2006 when we operated out of the old space at NW 19th and Kearney.
  • We are midway through our strategic plan that is delivering many improvements, not the least of which is a new IT system that will automate much of what is done manually today. We’ll finally be able to do away with paper climb cards!

The second proposed bylaw change would allow Executive Council to raise dues periodically without a bylaw revision. However any increase would be limited to no more than 3 percent per year cumulatively. For example if Executive Council thought an increase in dues was necessary in October 2021 dues could go up to no more than $81 ($72 x 1.03 x 1.03 x 1.03 x 1.03).
This proposed bylaw change is also unanimously supported by your Executive Council.
You will be asked to consider each proposed bylaw change separately. Thus you could vote for both (the recommendation of Executive Council), neither, or one but not the other.
I hope you will agree that the Mazamas provides an outstanding value for both our members and the community that we serve.
Please feel free to share your comments or feedback with me at stevehooker@mazamas.org
Thank you,
Steve Hooker
Mazamas President
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Finding the Nubbins: A middle-aged, first-time climber matches skills with teenagers at Smith Rock State Park

by Ken DuBois

It was 85 degrees on an April day at Smith Rock, but felt much hotter with the heat radiating off the rocks, the lack of shade, and the self-imposed pressure of climbing my first rock wall just minutes after my first rock-climbing lesson. I was on this high school outdoor education trip as a no-skills-necessary assistant, but now that all the kids had gone up, I wanted my turn. I’d watched a dozen teenagers scramble up this same rock face and float down, declaring it “too easy” and moving on to more challenging sections further down. 
“I don’t feel anything,” I said, referring to the nubbins. The instructor continued to guide me with the same advice about looking for chalk marks—left behind by the chalked-up hands of real climbers—and the little outcroppings of rock on which I could supposedly put my full body weight, pulling or pushing myself to the next stage in the climb. But the conversation went in circles, like someone pointing to an empty table and telling you to pick up a pen that isn’t there. 
I was getting impatient to make some kind of progress, so I decided to go for it, nubbins or not. I found an outcropping about the size of an almond and tried to stand on it, but I slipped, swung to the side, and banged my back against the rock face. Dangling like a marionette, I accept defeat, for the moment. 
“I’m done,” I announced, sitting in the dirt and pulling off my shoes. The instructor simply agreed, “Okay.” I looked up at the rock wall, which appeared even flatter and more nubbinless from this perspective. 
In the darkness of the school bus, heading to the campground, I confessed my problem to one of the other adults, clustered as we were in the front seats away from the teens. “I can’t find the nubbins,” I told her. “I feel little bumps on the rock face, but I just can’t see how I could put my whole body weight on that.” Her darkened silhouette appeared to be nodding sagely, and then she delivered the advice that changed the whole experience for me. “Your instincts are telling you that the nubbins won’t hold you,” she said, “but actually they will. And the only way to really know that is to try it and feel it. Practice by standing on nubbins close to the ground.” 
Walking towards the rock walls the next day, I stopped to practiced by putting my full weight on nubbins just inches above the dirt. I realized that I could actually stand on those bits without sliding off. I could feel them. I watched the kids sprint up a few rock walls, and got myself motivated to do the same. And I checked myself: “Remember,” I thought, “you are forty years older than these kids.”
But I did find the nubbins, and made my way, one little bump after another. I stood up on bits of rock I could barely even see the previous day, and with each step I felt a little bit stronger, more capable, and certain I would prevail. The exhilaration propelled me, and I picked up speed. And before I knew it, I was at the top, sitting on the ledge. 
“Are you ready to come down?,” they called up to me, but I said no, I wanted a minute. I looked out at the enormous canyon, and the river winding through it, and all the climbers on the ground, far below. I thought to myself, “How soon until I can do this again?” 
About the author: Ken DuBois has enjoyed hiking in the Pacific Northwest for almost thirty years. He joined the Mazamas in 2011 after interviewing Executive Director Lee Davis for an Oregonian article, and having his misconceptions about the organization swept away. He learned that Mazamas, far from being an exclusive club, is welcoming and open to all, with outdoor adventure opportunities for almost any age, skill level, inclination, and budget.
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New Cams: 2016

by Topher Dabrowski

With so many manufacturers introducing new cams for 2016, I wanted to take a quick look at the newer cams on the market and do some comparisons to see how much of a benefit they offer. Obviously there is a lot of talk about light weight and improved features,but how much lighter and what is it going to cost you?

I’m going to focus on Black Diamond (BD), Metolius, DMM, Wild Country and Totem cams, since those are the main newer offerings for the year.

Black Diamond and Metolius both announced an ultra light (UL) cam which will supplement their current offerings of Camalot C4s and MasterCams, respectively. Only Metolius has gone as far as putting its entire set of MasterCams on a diet as well as adding two more sizes on the upper end, a number 7 & 8, which is in the range of a Camalot 2 & 3. The larger sized MasterCams of the previous generation tended to be a bit wobbly due to the single flexible stem and the larger mass of the cam lobes. However, with the reduction in mass, it seems like Metolius was willing to go a little bigger and also add a stiffer cable. Black Diamond’s new line of UL cams does not include the .3, 5 or 6 yet, so if you wanted a complete set those would have to be made up with the C4s.
There is no news yet if BD intends to update those cam sizes and offer a UL version.

DMM has changed up the design of the lobes on its Dragon cams to be a bit “stickier” and profiled to be thicker in the sweet spot for more contact with rock. They offer a full line of cams with extendable slings from size 00-6, which is equivalent to the BD sizes of 0.3-4. It is interesting to note that DMM has color coded its twin axle Dragon cams to match the colors of the BD Camalots for a given size. One would guess this was done to ease interchangeability and familiarity of cam sizes for Camalot aficionados.

Wild Country, too, has updated the Friend to offer a twin axle design cam which also closely resembles the Camalot C4. Wild Country has taken the cue from DMM and added extendable slings to the new units, while also matching the size and colors of the Camalots. Could this be a trend towards an industry standard? Unfortunately, the Friends only come in the 0.5-4 sizes for now so the equivalent smaller 0.3 and 0.4 sizes would have to be made up with either the previous Helium Friend cam or another brand entirely.

Totem, a lesser-known Spanish company, offers a unique cam that is a dual independent stem design. It allows the cam to function in a quasi-offset nature which helps it perform well in flaring cracks and also affords aid climbers the ability to actively place only two lobes of the cam. Totem is expanding the range with two units, one which will be similar in size to the 2.0 Camalot size, which Totem calls a 1.8, slung with orange Dyneema. The other is the 0.5 size, equivalent to a 0.2 Camalot and is slung in black Dyneema.

I wanted to compare the new UL cams to the existing C4 cams as well as the DMM, Wild Country and Totem cams for a common 0.3-4 size set. Unfortunately, this was a bit of a challenge since only the DMM Dragons came as a complete set that covered the range. To try and make a reasonably fair comparison, I supplemented what each manufacturer might have available for the missing sizes. For the Wild Country cams I chose the equivalent Helium Friends. To make a complete set of Camalot ULs I threw in the 0.3 C4. I couldn’t do much for Totem since they don’t make an equivalent size to the BD 3 or 4. Similarly, the MasterCam ULs don’t have a BD 4 equivalent, so I used the Camalot UL 4 to complete that set as it seemed the logical choice.

I made three main comparisons and summarized the mass and costs of a chosen cam set between manufacturers. I highlighted the lightest set and lowest cost in the second set of tables.

(01) – Wild Country offers the smallest set of new cams (six in total) from 0.5-4, so I used this as a basis for the first comparison and substituted in a Camalot UL 4 for the Metolius set. The lightest and lowest cost set is the MasterCam UL with the Camalot UL C4 added as the biggest cam. The new BD Camalot ULs were the most expensive set while the C4 and the new Friends were almost the same mass.

(02) – This comparison is for the common 0.3-4 Camalot set. Again,Metolius has the lightest and lowest cost set of cams and BD has the most expensive set with its ULs. The Friends, Dragons and C4s are all very close in mass but the Friends and Dragons do have the extendable slings.

(03) – Here I tried to bring Totems into the mix. Since they have a set that is limited in the upper range by a Camalot 2 size equivalent, I simply compared an equivalent set from 0.3-2.0. Metolius, again, has the lightest and cheapest set of cams. The Totems are not overly weighty given their added functionality, but they are pricey.

I suppose one could start to look at the savings with reduced number of runners when considering the cams with extendable slings. My typical sling is a Mammut Contact 8 mm with two CAMP Nano ‘biners, all of which weighs in at 78 grams. Given a set of DMM or Friends from 0.3-4 with extendable slings, I might be able to leave those runners behind and save 624 grams off my rack. It would really depend on how much the route wanders and if those extended slings are long enough.

I have yet to get my hands on any of these units but, from a preliminary look at these specs, there are already some glaring differences. In the end, though, only getting out on the rock with these on my rack will tell whether or not these design discrepancies are significant or not.

About the author: Topher Dabrowski started his climbing endeavors early and has been adventuring and climbing all over planet Earth for almost 3 decades. His activities include mountaineering, big walls, alpine, mixed, rock, ice, bouldering and long distance trail running. As an active member of the local ASCA rebolting chapter he can often be found replacing suspect anchors and reducing your chances of an expensive hospital bill.

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IT Project: Status Report

by Sarah Bradham, Mazamas Marketing & Publications Manager 

In 2014 the Mazamas received a major gift from the Weinstein estate, which gave us the resources we needed to tackle one of the longest-awaited projects at the Mazamas—overhauling our information technology (IT) systems. Our existing systems are clearly not meeting the needs or expectations of our members, students or administration, and need to be modernized.

The goal is to create a centralized, online database that directly integrates with our website to manage everything the Mazamas do—from membership renewals to class administration, to volunteer management and donor relations, it’ll all run through this new system.

 In 2015 we went to work identifying the needs of the Mazamas. We hired a web development firm, OMBU Web, to complete the Discovery Phase of the project. This involved meetings with staff, key volunteers, and committee members to fully understand what we needed in a new system. The outcome of the Discovery Phase was a comprehensive Features & Requirements list, a Data Model, and Workflows.

We then sent out a Request for Proposal for the Build Phase of the project based on these documents. We received five proposals, which were narrowed down to two serious contenders.

Then, in 2016 and after numerous meetings with each company, we decided to proceed with OMBU for the Build Phase of the project.

The Project Kickoff was in May and we are finalizing the Features & Requirements of the new system now. In March, we also hired Peter Tung, an Encore Fellow from Social Venture Partners, to act as our IT Project Manager. This will ensure this important project gets the full support it needs to meet all benchmarks of timeline and quality. Peter comes to us with experience gleaned from 25-years at Intel as an IT Engineering Director.

 We will keep you informed throughout this project in several ways: quarterly project update meetings that are open to the public, and a website, mazamasitproject.org, that will be updated weekly. We look forward to sharing the exciting details of this project as they continue to unfold. Until then, make sure to keep up with us on our website.

 Project Objectives

  • Web application for members, volunteers, and the community to access and administer Mazama programs & services.
  • Visually appealing, streamlined, and easy-to-use Mazama website.
  • Robust online calendar that includes all events, activities, and classes that is easily searchable based on a multiple criteria. 
  • Centralized data system that can be accessed anywhere.
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When Fireworks on the Fourth Just Won’t Do

Just an hour east of Portland, man and dog find peace and quiet on the noisiest nights of the year

by Matt Carter

When the neighborhood fireworks begin each July, my dog Lily becomes an inconsolable mess of panting, pacing, whining, and shaking. In recent years I have used this as justification to get out of town and into the mountains with her.

In 2014, the Fourth fell on a Friday. The weather forecast was unusual, as it did not include rain, making it a perfect weekend for a backpack. I checked with Lily to see if she was available. She cleared her schedule for me and was ready to go in under a second. It took me a bit longer to load our packs. Our plan was to hike up Tanner Butte Trail to the Tanner-Eagle cutoff, down Eagle Creek to the Wahtum Lake Trail, around the lake past Chinidere Mountain to Benson Plateau, and out Ruckel Creek.

We encountered our first hikers as the trail levels out then grades gently up Tanner Ridge: two young men and their freshly groomed Collie. They were trying without success to coach their pup to jump a log crossing the trial. Without a pause, Lily walked up to the log next to the Collie and hopped over. “This is how it is done newbie,” she wagged. The Collie watched and shortly thereafter hopped the log.

This young team was keen to get in front of us, most likely to secure what would surely be the last spot at Dublin Lake on such a beautiful weekend. I picked up the pace to no avail. Youth won out and they arrived at Dublin Lake minutes before we did. I tossed some sticks into the lake for Lily to retrieve and then hiked on. We would not see another person that day.

Shortly after the lake junction the trail picks up an abandoned road. Along the road we encountered two large patches of cut bear grass arranged to make beds. Not aware of any forest critter that cuts bear grass to form a bed, I was allowed to speculate on the cause as either Bigfoot or space aliens. Lily’s nose showed no interest in the piles of vegetation, so we moved on.

When Lily and I arrived at Tanner Springs Campground, we were amazed to find ourselves alone on such a beautiful weekend in the Mark O. Hatfield Wilderness, which lies barely an hour east of Portland. We set up camp along the stream and prepared for the evening. Lily sleeps at the tent door with just the bug screen. From there she can monitor the olfactory action of the night forest as I drift off to sleep.

The next morning, we encountered a few Boy Scouts and their leader, who reported an arduous adventure up from Big Cedar Springs that included losing the trail many times and being trapped in thicket. They looked beat. Lily wasted no time putting their unoccupied hands to use.

This is a well-practiced routine for her. She slowly moves into position alongside of a hiker and places her head into the hiker’s unoccupied hand. Without being much aware of what they are doing, they begin petting her. And if they stop, her head presses gently against their leg and the petting resumes. In the early days of hiking with Lily, I would try to stop her or at least alert the person that they were petting a dog without knowing it. More recently, I’ve just let it happen. When they depart from our trailside conversation, most are unaware they spent the last minute or so petting a dog.
I put Lily in the lead whenever a trail goes faint. She has the advantage of being able to follow scent beacons and can tell the difference between lost and not-lost scents. We are a well-integrated team. Thanks to her, we had no difficulty passing the section described by the scouting group as nearly impassable.

Once past Big Cedar Springs the trail improved and we found our first muddy tarn. Like a magnet, Lily is drawn to water features, and in she went, despite having been trained not to do so while wearing a pack. What emerged from the muck was a half white, half black dog and a pack filled with goo.

As we approached the west fork of Eagle Creek she began her water happy dance. Leading out and turning her head frequently, “Can I?!! Can I?!!” her eyes asked. The siren call of Eagle Creek again defeated her discipline; in she went, pack and all. On the plus side she and her pack cleaned up nicely.
Some time later we meet a young woman coming out from Wahtum Lake. Lily moved into position to receive pets. After the young woman reported that everyone out hiking that day is at Wahtum Lake, I told Lily to knock it off. The young woman pulled her hand away quickly, surprised to realize that she had been petting a dog. Before she departed, she called Lily adorable.

True to the young woman’s report, Wahtum Lake was packed with tents in every available space. Lily retrieved some sticks for me from the lake. On the move again, we headed past Chinidere Mountain toward Benson Plateau. Near Camp Smoky, we encountered a lone hiker. While Lily was working him, he reported a large group ahead of us was headed to the Plateau to camp. Again, the race was on. There are several trails in the Plateau. We took the shortest to Hunters Camp and turned up the wick. Arriving at Hunters Camp, we found ourselves alone again. Lily settles into camp life quickly, taking a position where she can comfortably track my progress setting up camp. Her keen sense of smell allows her to monitor me with her eyes closed.

The next day we began the hike out down Ruckel Creek. Over the years Lily has day-hiked all the trails we covered on this Fourth-of-July excursion. As we started to head down she stopped frequently to bark and stare at me. The message was clear: “This trail leads to the car. No, this can’t end!”

Our last encounter was with a young couple. They were headed up Ruckel Creek just past the Indian pits. The young man pulled out a map and began to tell me where on the map we are (not even close), and asked how much further to Cascade Locks. They had taken the alternate route on the Pacific Crest Trail down Eagle Creek, and rather than walk the Old Highway to Cascade Locks, they were headed back up Ruckel Creek. I advised him that Ruckel Creek via Benson and the PCT to Cascade Locks was a very long way. He assured me I was wrong and they pressed on. Lily had scored pets with the young woman. Near the road they passed us up, retreating without a word.
We returned to a quiet Portland neighborhood. A tired dog is a good dog.

Author Bio: Matt Carter has been a Mazama member for 22 years, as well as a Climb Leader, BCEP Leader, Advanced Rock leader and has served on many committees and Executive Council. Lily, (aka The Lovely Miss Lily to her climber friends), is a nine-year-old Golden Retriever who can be found with Matt most weekends on local trail and off trail adventures. She is an accomplished mountain dog comfortable in pack and harness. 
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The Beauty of BCEP: Doing what’s not comfortable is the point

by Maureen O’Hagan

The first week in March, twelve students meet for the first time. There is a doctor, a teacher, a salesman. There is a social worker, an IT guy, an engineer. I don’t know any of this at first; it will all come out later (along with a lot of other life-affirming details.) These are utter strangers to me. But it doesn’t take long to understand a few things. First, that these strangers differ in their experience, their fitness, their age, their politics, their backgrounds. But also that they have one thing in common: they want to learn. And somehow, it works.

This is the beauty of the Mazama Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP): take a bunch of strangers, dump a boatload of information on them, put them under just the right amount of stress, and they come out the other end better in more ways than they could have imagined. At least that’s the way I see it.

Why worry?

I applied to BCEP with some trepidation. At age 50, I was convinced I would be the oldest among the group. The slowest. The least experienced.

In retrospect, worrying is always a waste of time. (I know, I know!) But it’s also true that the whole idea of BCEP is uncomfortable. As an adult, it’s not often that you willingly put yourself in a position where you have no idea what you’re doing. Especially when it could actually be dangerous. Mostly, we grownups just keep doing what makes us comfortable.

Yet this kind of discomfort is exactly what we all signed up for.

The second and third rings

At our first lecture, our team co-leader, Patrice Cook, made the point in graphic form, drawing a picture on the blackboard of three concentric circles. The innermost circle was our comfort zone. This is where we live most of the time. The next circle represented activities that are outside our comfort zone. The third represented activities that made us scared out of our wits. For BCEP, she told us, we shouldn’t reach the third ring. But the second one? Well, that’s the whole point.

Our first hike helped clear up some baseline questions for me. Would I get wet? Yes. Cold? Yes. Tired? Yes. Would I have the right gear? No. But will I manage to enjoy it anyway? Again, yes.

It was on another outing where I would learn the more important lessons. The hike itself, up the Elevator Shaft and towards Devil’s Rest, was a bit steep at the start. But then we veered off to practice some of the rope skills we had learned in the previous weeks. And this is where one member of our group began approaching the third circle. We were to travel on a fixed line, then rappel off of Cougar Rock. To my new friend, this was scared witless territory. As she told me to edge past her as we approached the ropes, her fear was palpable.

For a long time, she just sat there. The rest of the group did our rappels. She sat there some more. And we waited.

When we saw her finally setting up for the rappel, the rest of us gasped. When she safely reached the ground, we all cheered.

Later, when I asked her how she managed to change her mind—how she decided to move forward rather than give up and walk away—she talked about the circles, about getting outside her comfort zone. That’s when it occurred to me that courage doesn’t mean fearlessness. It’s a willingness to trust even when you’re scared—to trust the system, to trust your instructors, and to trust your own body. That’s what we were privileged to witness that day. In some ways, it was a small moment, but it’s a moment I don’t think any of us will forget.

A set of keys

Over the course of BCEP, there were other such moments. There was frustration. (I admit it: I got lost trying to find the starting line for the navigation exercise.) There were challenges. But there were so many stories we all shared. I learned that one of my teammates recently suffered a profound loss but had a look of pure joy on her face as she bounded towards a meeting point. That another used to weigh 400 pounds and had utterly changed his life. That a third had a new baby. I learned several of my new friends practiced meditation. That they had climbed peaks that I couldn’t even imagine. That they may look mild-mannered, or live otherwise conventional lives, but that they were adventurers at heart.

So, what do you get over the course of the eight-week BCEP class? A set of keys that can open doors to new adventures. That’s the practical part. But more important are friends that I hope to get to know even more. And concepts that I hope will serve me in life beyond climbing.

What’s next? I mustered the nerve to apply for a Mt. Hood climb. Sure, it will be hard. But it’s an opportunity to meet even more perfect strangers.


About the Author: Maureen O’Hagan is a journalist who’s written for Willamette Week, The Washington Post, and The Seattle Times. She currently works as a freelance writer, editor, and ghostwriter and is nearing completion of a cookbook project. Shortly after this essay was submitted, she summited Mt. Hood.