Author: Mathew Brock

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Henry Pittock & the Mazamas

by Mathew Brock, Mazama Library and Historical Collections Manager


Above: Henry Pittock (far right, holding alpenstock) and members of the Mazama 1912 Annual Outing to Mt. Hood in front of Cloud Cap Inn. Mazama Library and Historical Collections, VM2011.007 1912 Hood Outing. 

In the mid to late 1800s, the mountains of the Cascades, especially St. Helens, Adams, and Hood, pulled early adventurers out of the growing metropolitan areas and into the wilderness. In the summer of 1853, Thomas Dryer and a party of other men stood on the summit of Mount St. Helens. During the early exploration and settlement of the Oregon Territory, few had the time or energy to climb mountains. However, a handful of individuals like Dryer were drawn to the mountains. His climb of Mount St. Helens marked the beginning of the golden age of mountain climbing in the Pacific Northwest. A year later, in 1854, Dryer climbed Mt. Hood. His claim of having reached the summit of Mt. Hood was challenged by his eager, young employee Henry L. Pittock.

Early Portland businessmen appear cold and calculating in their dark Victorian-era suits and stern expressions devoid of humor. Henry Pittock looked the part in many of his early photographs, but his public image was at odds with his passion for life and outdoor activities. Pittock was born in London, England on March 1, 1836, before moving to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with his family. As a boy, he learned printing as part of the family business and studied at the Western University of Pennsylvania’s preparatory school. Pittock arrived in Oregon in 1853 at the age of 17 after crossing the Oregon Trail by covered wagon. Soon after, Thomas Dryer hired him to work at the Weekly Oregonian. Under Dryer, Pittock worked as a printer, handled distribution, and soon rose to be a shop foreman. By 1854, Pittock had risen through the ranks to the role of business manager. Unable to pay him, Dryer made Pittock his business partner. 

On August 6, 1857, Pittock, along with four others (L.J. Powell, William Buckley, Lyman Chittenden, and James Deardorff) made what is considered the first documented climb of Mt. Hood. Like Dryer three years earlier, Pittock and his party left Philip Foster’s farm in Clackamas County and made their way to the summit over five and a half hours, reaching the top at 12:30 pm. After eating lunch, they planted an alpenstock in the snow with a handkerchief which they left blowing in the north wind. Pittock, who was twenty-three years old at the time, and the other ‘boys’ then amused themselves for an hour by rolling rocks off the summit and watching them crash onto the outcroppings below. Pittock also recalled descending into one of the fumaroles on about 30 feet of rope and being unable to see the bottom. The snow on Hood that day was perfect for glissading and the party was off the mountain in just over two hours. 

After making their way back to Portland, James Deardorff, a member of Pittock’s party, published an account of their climb in the Democratic Standard, a rival publication to Dryer’s Weekly Oregonian. In his article, Deardorff gave his opinion, and it can be assumed one shared by Pittock and the other two climbers, that Dryer’s party had stopped some 300 feet shy of the summit back in 1854. What they found there differed in appearance from Dryer’s published account. Dryer reported finding a summit ridge running from southwest to north that was pockmarked with vents emitting sulfurous gas. Pittock’s party found a summit ridge that ran west to east and no evidence of smoking fumaroles, although they could see a scene that matched Dryer’s description some three hundred feet lower on the mountain’s slope. 

Needless to say, Dryer was less than pleased with Deardorff’s assertions and published a lengthy response in the next edition of his own paper. Over the next several weeks arguments volleyed back and forth in Portland’s newspapers. In his detailed assessment of the early years of the Mazamas, Erik Weiselberg notes that “Dryer sought to shift the terms of the argument, and to argue on the basis of respect, age, and gentlemanly behavior, rather than credibility and accuracy of reporting.” As K.F. Stewart notes in their biography of Henry Pittock, I Kept at Work, “what Dryer and Pittock said to each other while working together over the Oregonian’s presses went unrecorded, but they did continue their joint labor for another three years.” 

Pittock returned to climb Hood again in 1858 with a larger group that included two members of the 1857 climbing party. Pittock’s own recounting of that year’s climb notes that the climb up from Crater Rock was much more difficult than it had been the previous year. The party was forced to cut steps into the hard snow with the iron tips of their alpenstocks. Using a telescope, from the summit, they could see smoke from an Oregon City foundry, the windows of a Portland church reflected in the sun, the prairies of Central Oregon, and the peaks of St. Helens, Adams, and Rainier. Planted on the summit was a six-foot American flag, left from a previous party who summited on July 4th. Pittock and his party gathered around the flag, gave three cheers, and fired off pistols and lit firecrackers. The party was slowed on the descent due to everyone’s snowblindness. 


Henry Pittock on the summit of Mt. Hood, undated. Image courtesy of Pittock Mansion.

Pittock’s third climb of Mt. Hood, in 1859, turned out to be the most dangerous yet. The top 300 feet below the summit were almost bare of snow and the party was forced to pick their way over loose stones and gravel. Every few steps, someone would kick lose a stone that went rolling past everyone below. On the way up they noticed the tracks of a wolf, which they followed all the way to the summit. The tracks passed over and descended the other side. Upon reaching the summit they found it was covered with butterflies, some of which they captured and brought back as specimens. Also on the summit, they found a bottle containing the names of another party from a week prior and the remains of their firecrackers from the year before, however no sign of the flag or its pole. 

In what might be an indication of the relationship between Pittock and Dryer, it’s interesting to note that Pittock’s longtime friend George T. Meyer climbed Hood that year twice. The two men must have been on at least good enough terms to share a friend. Meyer climbed Mt. Hood once with Dryer in July of 1859 and then again with Pittock a month later. As a result, Meyer became the first person known to have climbed Mt. Hood twice in the same season. 

After scaling Mount Hood each year for three consecutive years, Henry took a decades-long break from climbing. In 1860, he married Georgiana Burton and assumed ownership of The Oregonian newspaper, and was likely focused on his growing family and building the newspaper into a successful business. Henry returned to mountaineering in the 1880s, this time bringing along his daughters, Kate and Lucy Pittock. As adults, Kate and Lucy embraced their father’s love of hiking and climbing. The sisters both joined the Mazamas in 1895 after climbing Mount Hood that same year. Lucy also climbed Mount McLoughlin (then known as Mount Pitt) along with her father in 1896 and summited Pinnacle Peak on the 1897 Mazamas Outing to Mount Rainier.

As the number of Portland-area climbing enthusiasts grew, so did the movement to create a group for like-minded individuals to join. In September of 1887, William Steel was one of a group of Portland climbers who lead the effort to establish the Oregon Alpine Club (OAC), the first mountaineering group west of the Mississippi. While we don’t know with certainty when Pittock and Steel first met, it’s likely they came in contact with each other through their involvement with the OAC. Pittock, his son-in-law Fredrick Leadbetter, and friend George Meyer were all members. The OAC reached the pinnacle of its glory in May of 1888 when it hosted a talk by the noted author Charles Dickens. 

The OAC struggled for seven years while it tried to find a focus and by 1891 it had collapsed. After the OAC went bankrupt, Steel and a handful of other mountaineers began meeting to form a new organization. In early 1894, they drafted a constitution, selected a name, and picked a slate of officers for the new organization. In March of 1894, they launched their new endeavor with ads in newspapers around the West. Pittock played a large part in the build-up to the establishment of the Mazamas. For the previous thirty years, the Oregonian printed little on Mt. Hood, as any further climbs were no longer “firsts.” As Stewart notes in their book, “One notable exception occurred in 1874 when a party came back from the summit with Pittock’s alpenstock, made from a sapling he had cut at timberline on his first climb in 1857, and which you will recall he left on the summit, planted like a flag. The alpenstock was inscribed with his name and the date. Pittock kept it proudly in his office until the flood of 1894 when it was lost, presumably floated downriver and out to sea.” For eleven days prior to and nine days after the selected date for the inauguration of the Mazamas, The Oregonian ran nine separate articles about the ascent. 

On the appointed day over 350 people from all walks of life assembled in the small hamlet of Government Camp, some of them having traveled three or more days by horseback or buggy, over rudimentary roads, where they set up an army of tents at the foot of Mt. Hood. The climb up was not without its dangers. At least two storms swirled around the mountain that day, forcing many climbers to turn back. In a story well known to most Mazamas, on Thursday, July 19, 1894, 155 men and 38 women reached the summit to inaugurate the Mazamas. 

Pittock and his two daughters were among those that were turned back by the weather. Pittock was a risk-taker, he wouldn’t have reached the summit of Hood or the Portland business establishment without being one, but he was not rash. The safety of his daughters and others came first. While the Pittocks were not listed as those on the summit, Henry was granted charter member status in the Mazamas in recognition of his 1857 first ascent.

In 1895, the year following the inauguration of the Mazamas, Pittock’s daughters Kate and Lucy, along with their brother-in-law Frederick Leadbetter, and Pittock’s nephew H. D. Stratton, made their own climb of Mt. Hood and became members of the Mazamas. 

Lucy accompanied her father on the 1986 Mazama Outing to Crater Lake that year. On August 16th, they were among the thirty-two people who ascended Mt. Pitt.  

In 1897 the members of the Mazamas elected Henry Pittock president of the organization. The minutes from Pittock’s year as president show that he appointed a committee to search for additional space to store publications, books, and curios. He and the executive council urged the US Geographic Survey to map the State of Oregon and Mt. Hood specifically. He signed on to a petition to create the Olympic Mountains Forest Reserve and urged for the creation of Crater Lake National Park. 

In the early years of the Mazamas, the Annual Outing was the big social event of the season. And under Pittock’s tenure, the location chosen for the 1897 outing was Mt. Rainier. Given the difficulty and time required, to say nothing of the logistics of reaching the mountains in the late 1800s, these outings were no small affairs. These often involved upwards of a hundred people or more, traveling by boat, train, wagon, and on horseback, over several days just to reach the site of their basecamp.  In addition to the climbers, there were cooks and camp porters, and wagon loads of supplies that were needed to support the huge party sometime for weeks in the wilderness.  

The outing to Mt. Rainier generated nationwide interest in the Pacific Northwest and its mountains, and contributed substantially to the creation of the Mt. Rainier National Park a year and a half later in 1899. In addition to over 40 Mazamas, a contingent of climbers from California’s Sierra Club, the Appalachian Mountain Club, and many eminent scientists were represented. In addition to Steel and Pittock, other notable members of the outing include Miss Fay Fuller; Dr. E. W. Young, and Edward Curtis, of Seattle. Edward Curtis would go on and become renowned around the world for his ethnographic work on, and portraits of, the Native Americans of the western United States. 

Even though there were other experienced Rainier climbers on the trip, Steel, Pittock, and Fuller among them, Curtis was selected as the climb leader due to his having spent considerable time on the mountain climbing and photographing its many changing seasons. Prior to the climb Curtis is said to have remarked to a friend, “It will be a grand trip, but there are too many inexperienced people in the party. I fear that before we return some accident will happen which will bathe the trip in gloom.” 

Henry Pittock (in center in vest and white hat) and other members of the 1897 climbing party members. Mazama Library and Historical Collections, VM1993.008 William Steel Collection.

Pittock was one of the climb leaders who led the two-day climb to Rainier’s 14,410 foot summit. They reached the summit at 3:30 in the afternoon, although some of the party, including daughter Lucy, turned back due to altitude sickness. Pittock was sixty-three years old at the time of his Rainier climb. 

Of the 75 climbers who started out, 59 made the summit, a remarkable record for what we in modern times would consider amateurs. As Curtis had feared before the outing began, the death of Professor Edgar McClure, of the University of Oregon, who fell on the descent, put a terrible damper on what was an otherwise successful climb and gathering. 

At the annual meeting in October of 1897, Pittock lost his bid for reelection to the presidency of the Mazamas, on a vote of 17-2. His defeat didn’t dampen his enthusiasm for the Mazamas, thankfully. On July 21, 1898, Henry and Lucy celebrated with the Mazamas atop Mount St. Helens during that year’s Annual Outing. The following year, 1899, the Pittocks and the Mazamas traveled north to Lake Chelan in Washington state for that year’s Annual Outing. In the reporting of the outing, it’s noted that Henry and Georgiana Pittock arrived “just a little too late for the climb of Mt. Sahala.” The presence of Georgiana was more than likely an indication that Henry had no intention of climbing that year. 

In 1901 Pittock traveled south with a Mazama contingent that included Rodney Glisan and others, to join the Sierra Club’s outing to the High Sierra. In his photo album from the trip, Glisan included an image of the sixty-seven-year-old Pittock sitting in the shade with John Muir. It’s unknown the level of activity Pittock engaged in during the Sierra Club outing. 

Pittock makes one last appearance at the basecamp for the 1912 Mazama climb of Mt. Hood. He can be seen, in both photographs and in rare film footage, milling around with the other climbers in front of Cloud Cap Inn. This likely marks the end of Henry Pittock’s mountaineering career. He would have been 76 years old—at a time when age weighted more heavily on an individual than it does now. 

Henry Pittock’s death in 1919 corresponds with the end of the golden age of mountaineering in the region. He led by example, and had a profound impact on the development of mountaineering in the Pacific Northwest. Along with William Steel and the other founders of the Mazamas, he worked to promote mountaineering through word and deed. To paraphrase Erik Weislberg, they were part of a modernizing of American culture which emerged after the Civil War and whose scientific, nationalistic, reformist, and professional proclivities praised exploring, record-keeping, record-setting, publishing, and promoting. Their efforts acted as part of a process that made good citizens out of pioneers. With nationalism and public service in mind, they promoted themselves and their environment as they climbed mountains around the Northwest. 

The Thrill of the Climb: The Pittocks and early mountaineering in Oregon in on display at the Pittock Mansion through July 3, 2022. The exhibit, featuring over 40 artifacts from the Mazama Library and Historical Collections, explores the Pittock family’s love of the sport and the early history of mountaineering in Oregon. Go see it today! 

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Mazamas 2022: The Road Ahead, Part 1

by Kaleen Deatherage, Interim Executive Director

I’d like to begin by thanking all of you who attended or watched via YouTube our listening session in March, as well as those of you who have taken your time to email or stop by for a conversation as we work together to define the road ahead for the Mazamas. This is YOUR organization, and it’s heartening to see the level of engagement and care that members, staff, and the board have for our mission and our future.

Your questions and feedback from the listening session, along with the ongoing work of the staff and board, have helped us to clarify our next steps. We are going to focus on the following priorities in the coming months:

  • Financial oversight and budget planning—to overcome the deficit and rebuild the Mazamas financial assets and stability. 
  • Identify revenue sources and build a fundraising plan—initiate new approaches to program/activity pricing and new sources of revenue generation to improve the bottom line.
  • Role clarity and responsibility for decision making—clearly define the respective roles, reporting, and decision-making authorities of volunteer leaders, staff, and the board.
  • Propose bylaws amendments—a well-planned process to identify needed changes, share rationale with members, hold discussions, and move to a vote within a timeline that resolves issues before hiring a new permanent ED and launching a strategic planning process. 
  • Improve communication organization-wide—develop and lead a well-planned, pro-active approach to communications to help support and maintain a positive and cohesive community dynamic and engaged membership.

We’ll be actively using all the Mazama communication channels to share the work happening on these priorities, and we’ll be reaching out to many of you to help contribute to these efforts, so please answer your door when we come knocking!   

One of the takeaways I had from the listening session was a recognition that it could be helpful to clarify the most common nonprofit operational and governance structures, to explain what structure Mazamas currently operates with, and to suggest some structural adjustments that could better fit your present needs and set the Mazamas up for success on the road ahead.  

With that in mind, let’s dive into a conversation to better understand and compare nonprofit structures. 

What is a Nonprofit Organization? 

A nonprofit is an entity that is driven by a dedication to a social cause in areas such as religion, science, environment, public health, social service, or education. Unlike corporations, all revenues earned by a nonprofit organization are used in furthering its mission-focused objectives instead of being distributed to shareholders or employees of the organization.

Nonprofits in most jurisdictions are tax-exempt, meaning that they do not pay income tax on the income that they receive. Non-profit organizations in the United States are monitored by the IRS using Code Section 501(c). The code determines an organization’s eligibility for the nonprofit organization’s status.  The revenues earned by a nonprofit organization are mainly from donations from individuals and corporate organizations, as well as from fundraising activities.

The donations are tax-deductible for the individuals or corporations that contribute, and the organization is not required to pay taxes on the monies. Nonprofits are accountable to their donors, volunteers, and the community. The projects nonprofits undertake help build public confidence in the organization.

Although nonprofit organizations are not driven by a profit motive, they must collect revenues that help them further their specific social cause. Nonprofits may also receive sponsorship for specific projects and events from corporations, government funding via grants or contracts, merchandise sales, and even private investments.

Due to the important role that nonprofit organizations play in shaping the community, over the years they’ve been forced to adopt new methods of raising revenue to be financially stable. Over-reliance on donations and events may create cash flow problems for organizations when the donors fail to make contributions, or the amounts donated fall below the funding levels needed to remain sustainable.

Membership

With a nonprofit definition and their basic purpose established, let’s now talk about the term “membership.” What’s important to understand is that in the non-profit sector, membership often has many meanings.

Let’s begin with the membership structure and definition that the Mazamas currently operate under, which is a formal membership structure. A formal membership organization is a nonprofit that grants its members specific rights to participate in its internal affairs. These rights are established in the articles of incorporation and defined in more detail in the bylaws. Usually, in a formal membership organization, members elect the board and/or the officers; approve changes in the bylaws; and authorize major transactions such as mergers and dissolution of the organization. In short, members have a strong interest and voice in the future of the organization and not just in the tangible benefits that they receive as members. For example, trade associations, chambers of commerce, and churches are typically membership organizations in which the members rely on the organization to advocate for better business opportunities or the religious beliefs and practices of a particular line of business or faith community. 

To a high degree this structure is a leftover of a bygone era of fraternal orders—Elks and Lions clubs, Freemasons, Rotary, Kiwanis—that quite honestly no longer play a significant role in today’s society. Formal membership structures, when set up in decades past, were not designed to welcome the general public. In fact, they were often designed to define the criteria that would allow certain people to join and intentionally keep other people out. This reality doesn’t mean that there is no place today for a nonprofit with a formal membership structure, but it does reveal a truth that you can no longer avoid. And that truth is it’s time for organizations like Mazamas, that still operates under an outdated nonprofit model, to take a hard look at adjusting your membership and governance structure to re-establish your relevance in the alpine and mountaineering community and to determine how, going forward, the Mazamas can make a meaningful impact on the general public. 

The structure we’ve just discussed is a formal membership structure, so what is an informal membership organization? Informal membership is a practical way to integrate supporters or donors into an organization. This type of nonprofit doesn’t have formal members, it has a membership program. In contrast to a formal membership nonprofit that grants its members specific rights to participate in its internal affairs, nonprofits with membership programs are creating a means of incentivizing donations and involvement within their organization. The nonprofit extends additional engagement opportunities to members in exchange for donations in the form of membership fees. The benefit of a membership program is that nonprofits can not only reap the benefits of extra donations through membership fees, but they also provide specialized perks and engagement opportunities for invested supporters—without the added complexity and burden of managing a membership-based governance model. Implementing a membership program is a nonprofit fundraising and stewardship strategy. It is not connected to how the nonprofit is governed.

For instance, you may have heard an Oregon Public Broadcasting pledge drive asking for members to join and donate to the station. They are using “membership” as a way to raise money, allowing people or businesses to participate in their membership program by making monthly or annual donations in exchange for services like an insider newsletter or invitations to member-only events. These “donor members” are interested in OPB’s mission and find the benefits package useful. And giving a donor the right to proudly claim and display “membership status” (on a tote bag, for example) can be a powerful donation motivator. 

Well documented in nonprofit literature is the following truth, changing a formal membership structure into a self-sustaining board structure tends to be a challenging task. It asks members to give up some of their power to help an organization become more flexible by giving the board more latitude to take action, allowing them to respond much quicker to changes in the external environment like the economy; the shifting nonprofit fundraising landscape; the prevailing social issues of the day; and many other factors that nonprofit senior staff members and board members must adapt to on a daily basis. That ask is never easy, especially for those who are long-tenured members accustomed to the formal membership structure. 

Because our future nonprofit structure is what the Mazamas membership needs to consider, let’s dive a little deeper into member-driven vs. board-driven structures. A nonprofit corporation can choose to be governed by formal voting members or by a self-sustaining board. The governing body of your nonprofit organization is empowered and responsible for setting direction, strategic decision-making, compliance, operating-policy setting, fiscal oversight, and overall accountability for the organization in fulfilling its vision. Recognizing that selecting the best governing structure is vital to ensuring the success, growth, and development of a nonprofit organization, the savviest nonprofits revisit their structure from time to time with open-mindedness about making necessary changes to increase their relevance and competitiveness in the nonprofit sector. 

To do this, it’s critical to understand the difference between a governing structure that is board of directors-driven, or one that also incorporates a governing membership. Membership governance typically involves individuals—members—who are allowed to vote on some or all of the following: matters of governance, direction, approval of budgets, activities, staffing, and/or substantial financial obligations that the organization might undertake, or the approval of long-term contracts. This structure may include members voting to appoint a board of directors or an executive committee to manage the day-to-day operations of the organization and then the membership only votes on specific actions as necessary for the success of the organization. The board may bring those types of issues before the members as necessary. Membership may require membership dues to be a voting member of the organization, or not. Membership may also include benefits, such as discounts to participate in activities of the organization where participants are required to pay fees, or perhaps have access to special activities for members only. Eligibility criteria for membership is clearly defined, as well as what the benefits to members and their responsibilities will be.

This structure works well for organizations who want a democratic structure where each member has a say in what happens. The following types of nonprofits are typically member-driven since their primary goal is to serve their members:

  • Chambers of commerce
  • Churches
  • Social clubs
  • Trade associations

With a board-governed organization, there are either no official members or members with only limited rights. If a nonprofit corporation does not have a membership structure, its board will be self-sustaining instead of being elected by members. In this setup, board members elect their replacements themselves, usually via a board nominating committee, and the board of directors is the highest authority in the nonprofit corporation. This means that board members must accept responsibility for setting direction, making decisions, and managing the activities of the organization, whether they hire others—an executive director, staff, or independent contractors—to carry it out or use volunteers. In this governing framework, the board is not accountable to another body. Most charities choose a board-driven structure.

It may be possible for Mazamas to retain voting members and still be governed by a self-sustaining board, this is something I believe should be considered carefully. Would the membership be willing to change the bylaws, granting the board greater ability to make decisions, set board terms of service, choose board members based on criteria that helps the Mazamas to be viable in 2022 and beyond, and conduct the daily affairs of the organization with an enhanced ability to make real-time decisions to adapt to the environment without waiting for an annual vote of the membership?

To help you sort through these important decisions, my next article will be an exploration of nonprofit bylaws and some specific recommendations around how the Mazamas could elect to update its bylaws to overcome some of the obstacles the organization is facing today and to set yourselves up to raise more money and make a greater impact in the alpine community, as well as throughout the reigon. 

If you would like to learn more about the efforts to stabilize and prepare the Mazamas for the future, please join us for our next virtual town hall event on Monday, May 9. Look for the link to register in the eNews and on the Mazamas social media channels.

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Better Together

by Jules Williams

The incline was rapidly increasing below our crampons as the eight of us all looked up, oohing and aahing as the light emerged from behind Mt. Hood. Though we had talked about the climb for weeks, nothing could prepare me for this. I was unprepared for how breathtaking it would all be. How humbling. And how much I would love every minute. Everyone else had been up a mountain before, but this was my first time, ever.

After eight weeks of intensive mountaineering training with my Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP) team, now I understood: how difficult it was, what discipline it took, how much of a commitment it was, why it was such an accomplishment. Not just standing on the top, but every step to get there. And safely home, as my dad always repeated. 

When I was a little girl and our family friends came over for dinner, we often ended up in the basement watching slideshows of my parents’ peak-bagging heydays. In 1972, my parents transplanted from the east coast and immediately fell in love with the outdoors and joined the Mazamas. They eventually summited Mt. Hood 15 times—give or take a few attempts—along with the other 15 major peaks in the Pacific Northwest, before retiring after a third kid—yours truly—came along. All the slides of endless hiking and climbing up were a bit boring when I was five years old. I liked the pictures with the view from the top the best. 

While circumnavigating the Timberline Trail in 2017, I started dreaming about seeing the view from atop Mt. Hood myself. I had hiked and backpacked a ton, but could I climb mountains? I couldn’t know until I tried. 

Back when my parents taught BCEP in the 1970s there were only a couple thousand or so climbers in the entire U.S. In 2020, there were about 250 applicants to BCEP. I was elated to get accepted to a team, then bummed. The first and last class was on March 9, 2020. The world was officially in a global pandemic. 

My calendar was already reserved for weekly conditioning hikes in April and May, so I found as much elevation as I could while everything was closed that spring, then socially distant ways to adventure all summer, culminating in another Timberline Trail completion. Instead of taking the fall and winter off per usual, I kept hiking on trails with fewer people and more solitude. I was even more excited to get accepted in 2021 and finally be on a team. 


Above: BCEP 2021 Team #2 celebrates successfully graduating in May, 2021. Pictured (back to front, left to right): Jonathan Pape, assistant Laura Guderyahn, assistant Bridget Martin, leader Larry Beck, Rocio Herrera, Olivia Girod, Jules Williams, Andy Robbins, Randy Uhde. Not pictured: assistant Rebecca Lewis. Photo by Rebecca Lewis.

Our first conditioning hike was on a typical grey and breezy early spring morning in the Columbia River Gorge. I was nervous about my sore ankle and felt shy around so many strangers, so I lagged behind the rest of the ten-person BCEP team with one of the assistants. It didn’t take long for my body and heart to start warming up.  

Within five minutes, the assistant started answering my inquisitive questions with “real talk”—I liked her immediately. Divorce, losing parents, family dynamics, career changes, dating, having a family. We had covered all the big stuff in our past, present, and future by the time our team stopped for lunch on Cook Hill overlooking Mt. Hood. 

During the lunch break, we practiced rappelling down the hill from anchors attached to the trees. I easily replicated the completely-new-to-me sequence of steps with knots and gear because I could look and understand. But, the climbing commands repeated verbally just went in one ear and out the other. 

The next morning we had our first indoor rock climbing session at the Mazama Mountaineering Center to learn how to climb, belay, and rappel for real. After a week of online modules, textbook reading, breakout group meetings, working out, hiking, and then climbing, I was pretty pooped by the end of the session. 

“Jules. Hold up! Before I forget,” the assistant said as she walked over. She handed me flashcards that she generously made the evening after our hike so that I could practice the verbal commands on my own. 

Six weeks later at our final indoor practice session, I knew the knots and commands by heart. Now, I was ready to practice the harder stuff, like falling. And the hardest stuff, like trust and dependence. 

I had one more wall to try. Looking up, I saw the assistant nonchalantly leaning back into her harness and ropes on the one-inch thick and four-foot-long plywood ledge of the ice-climbing wall. Just like she was sitting in a hammock—made only of air.

Once I got up there, I immediately nudged my butt and back into the corner. We secured personal protection to the wall for me so I could set up my own rappel. Throughout the program, I specifically asked the instructors not to give me a hand unlocking a tricky carabiner or fixing the rope because I wanted to be capable of doing it all by myself. My mom used to joke that I tried to change my own diaper. 

“Wait, before I rappel, can you show me how to do that?” I asked.

“Do what?” she replied.

“Lean into nothing.”

Even though I had three points of safety, the tears dripped down my face as soon as I leaned back from the wall. Defying all logic, the attachment felt insecure. The assistant, a trauma nurse and a mom, gently reassured me over and over about how each anchor point, knot, and carabiner was attached until I breathed more steadily and sniffled “thank you!” through my face mask. We both giggled.

It was not about the fear of falling. It was about trust. Depending on the anchors—set by others—and the personal protection—set by myself—for safety and support. Asking for and getting help. Being vulnerable to unknown weakness and strength. 

According to Victoria Erickson, “When you’re a mountain person you understand the brilliance and beauty of contradiction. The way land can be your greatest teacher. How something can be both grounding and elevating, intoxicating and soothing, wild yet serene, intensely primal yet patient, and cycling yet predictable within the shifts and rhythms. Mountains keep us on the edge yet wrap us in the sensation of safety all at once. I don’t know of anything sweeter, or more magic-inducing than that.”

Just so, teamwork keeps us on the edge yet wrapped in the sensation of safety all at once. 

Over the next seven weeks, we became a team: Catching mistakes as we safety checked each other’s gear, deciding not to complete a hike when folks didn’t feel well, navigating unclear trails, walking in each other’s snowy footsteps, and learning others’ fears and needs. 

We were in it together. We all applied and were accepted for a Mt. Hood climb, though an unpredictable weather front of high winds and low temperatures moved in on our climb date. We had to be patient. Keep training and preparing. We wouldn’t set foot on the mountain for another two weeks, but the climb had begun. 

The wait was well worth it. It was a perfectly clear night. The sweet, surprisingly warm breezes wafted by like someone just opened the oven door to check on some cookies. And carried the “silent but deadly” sour stink of rotten eggs rising from the dormant volcano’s sulfuric fumaroles.

Around 5:30 a.m. we stopped and watched in awe as the mountain’s shadow spread west across the forest below like a giant awakening, as magical as the crescent of blood orange moon that had risen from the darkness in the east. Or the Milky Way that arched up over us toward the south. Or the twinkling lights of Portland we’d seen toward the west. 

My dad said he always enjoyed the journey of a climb, whereas my mom was driven by the goal of getting to the top. I did both—savored the beauty and worried about the slow progress of our large group. More stops, cautious steps, mild altitude sickness, varying speed. I wondered: How were we going to summit in time?

By 7 a.m. we only had 1,000 more feet to climb—we had covered 80% of the ascent mileage, but still had 80% of the difficulty to go. It was getting riskier by the minute as the sun continued to rise.

We paused in the Devil’s Kitchen to assess. It was only early June and the creek below the snow was shockingly visible with only an ice bridge across the fumaroles. We consulted briefly with another seasoned mountaineer, a father leading his 15-year-old son’s first ascent as they roped up together as a precaution and then promptly set off. There wasn’t much time for deliberation—instead, we needed decisions. Do we keep trying or turn around?

After crossing the Hogsback, we paused at the top of Hot Rocks, looking down the scree field of exposed rock. This was the exact spot where a 64-year-old man died the previous weekend while descending. The circumstances of the 500-foot fall had not yet been publicly released when we climbed. Of the 15,000-20,000 who attempt to climb it, one or two people die on Mt. Hood each year, on average. This was the first death since 2018.  

This mixed extra fear into the excitement as we took the first steps up the crux of the Old Chute. We slowly progressed up the very steep incline following in others’ hardened bootsteps. Several small groups passed us and also returned from the summit to descend. Three skiers started descending above us and knocked small bits of snow debris down the face. We paused so we could communicate with them and assess safety. 

Looking up, I estimated 40 steps to the next traverse that led over the edge and toward the summit, just out of eyesight some 200 feet further up. I turned around and finally really looked down, surprised to see familiar-looking terrain, just like the double black diamond ski runs that scared me while alone, but which I willing followed my older siblings down when I was a kid. 

I heard one of the leaders make the call from below. We were turning around. The debris was the last straw. It was likely safe to proceed, but folks were done. I realized I could safely sit down, say a prayer of gratitude and take a few minutes to take it all in—not just the stunning blue sky view but everything that led up to that moment. Instead of disappointment, I felt fulfilled and capable. The dream came true. The goal was achieved. We gave it our all. So we weren’t at the tip-top, but we did climb a mountain together! 

Sitting around the Timberline Lodge parking lot afterward our team shared salty snacks while celebrating and debriefing. Not only the climb, but everything we’d learned together—that climb, in the program, and during the pandemic. Could we do it? Heck yeah. And we would. Another day. This was just the beginning.

This article originally appeared in the January/February issue of the Mazama Bulletin. You can read other articles in that issue, and past issues, here.

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Hints on outing equipment

Written by Kenneth Beebe in the 1926 Mazama Annual.

Editors note: The following is an exact reproduction of Beebe’s article with the original wording and grammar intact. The images are drawn from his 1920s era outfitting catalog.

“A few suggestions regarding equipment gleaned from ‘cold,’ ‘hard’ and ‘wet’ ex­perience may be of interest to our mem­bers, particularly our· new ones. Merle Moore speaks the truth when he says, ‘Your pleasure will depend largely on your equipment,’ as you can easily spoil a won­derful trip by too much, too little, or not the right kind of an outfit. 

One of the few legally licensed Mazama brand-named products.

In outfitting for any kind of a trip out­doors one must keep the weight and bulk down to comfortable essentials consistent with the means of transportation. A sleep­ing bag that will keep you warm is essen­tial. A four-pound wool bat, covered with a wool-proof light sheeting, folded over and sewed across the foot and three-fourths up one side and inserted into a light outer bag, makes a very satisfactory bed. The four-pound bat is a much better weight for this climate than the three or three and a half pound. Such a bag should not weigh more than eight pounds complete. The eiderdown bag possesses more warmth for its weight than the wool bat with the ad­vantage, in addition, of its compressibility for packing, They are also a number of patented bags on the market combining real warmth with light weight. Do not have the outer bag waterproof (except possibly on the bottom) as the body mois­ture, which has to be eliminated from the covering of the sleeper before he can be warm, will condense on the inside of the cover, drawing the heat away from your body instead of retaining it. 

As a protection against rain at night, use either a light tent with waterproof ground cloth sewed in, weighing 3 1/2 to 4 pounds, or a waterproof silk fly about 9 ft. by 10 ft., which can be rigged up as an overhead tent only or, by putting one end on the ground with the sleeping bag on it and then bringing it up, around and over the hag, you can get the combination of tent and ground cloth. A light air mattress and pillow adds greatly to your sleeping comfort. 

Good footwear is all important in walk­ing over rocks and ice fields. Take one pair of stout, high topped boots, with low, broad heels, large enough to allow the wearing of two pairs of socks-one pair heavy wool and one light cotton or silk next to the skin, for this ensures comfort and prevents blisters. The souls should be heavy and nailed with cone-head Hun­garian hob nails. The boots must be well greased and broken in. On the ice and hard snow, either Crampons (ice creepers) or a number of No. 3 or 4 winged screw calks, screwed into the soles and heels, will prevent slipping. Include a light pair of shoes like high tennis shoes or ankle high moccasins for comfort about camp-­also sufficient additional hose according to the duration of the outing. A small quantity of one-inch zinc adhesive plaster is advisable for prevention against blisters. 

An outing suit, preferable of wool or forestry cloth, a mosquito head net and mosquito dope in a small can, soft hat, heavy woolen shirt and a light one for camp, coat sweater or mackinaw coat, a suit of light all wool underwear for moun­tain climbing and your regular underwear for tramping and camp, three bandana handkerchiefs, gloves or mittens (one pair leather and one pair heavy wool), extra shoe laces, tin cup and plate, knife, fork and spoon, canteen, shoe grease or oil, pack hoard or rucksack, toilet roll with towels, soap, cold cream in tube, grease paint and lip stick, all of smallest size and weight, make up the outfit. A rain cape is a needed addition and better than a rain coat as it completely covers your pack and you do not perspire under it. For protec­tion from the wind on the mountain top a windproof parka is a Godsend. 

Goggles or amber colored glasses should be worn on the snow fields to prevent snow blindness. An alpenstock is gener­ally used in this country in preference to an ice axe except by the experienced moun­taineer. For light at night the carbide, electric flashlight or folding candle lantern will give real satisfaction on the trail and in camp. If you take a flashlight, don’t forget to take along an extra battery and bulb. A two-pound axe in sheath is a handy camp tool and a note book, pencil, writing paper, stamped envelopes, water­proof match box (a screw top shaving soap can, lined with blotting paper, makes a good one), pocket compass, pocket knife, map, and a few extra rawhide thongs or strong string are useful accessories. Don’t forget your song books, camera and extra films. 

A good emergency first aid kit consists of 1 roll 2″ gauze bandage, absorbent cot­ton cloth in waterproof containers), lister­ine, mercerex, Unguentine, iodine and resi­nol. Take just a Iittle of each using very small containers. 

Above all, be careful in getting together your outfit. Don’t buy anything until you need it and then buy only what you know you want. A good outfit, carefully se­lected, will give you constant satisfaction, while on the other hand you can sink a lot of money in stuff that is of no value to you nor anyone else. 

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Strong Long

We are saddened to share the news that Long died on Tuesday, September 7. Long was a true treasure to the Mazama community. He made an impact on the lives of so many. From leading folks to their first summit, to tackling a more difficult climb, to teaching first aid, or just sharing a smile—he will be forever missed. Climb high, Long.

Yunlong Ong’s quest to outclimb cancer

Yunlong Ong on the summit of Mt. Adams. Photo by Ian McCluskey.

by Ian McCluskey

On a sweltering July day, our climbing team returned to the trailhead after a successful summit of Mt. Jefferson. Packs laden with ropes, pickets, ice axes, second tools, tents, sleeping bags, stoves, leftover fuel, and ripe blue bags were dropped with a grunt. Leg muscles ached, heel blisters stung, and the grit of trail dust and forest fire ash stuck to sweaty skin. It was that moment when you want to peel off trail-grimy clothes and pour water all over your head, then look back at the now distant snow-capped peak and stupidly grin with a soul-deep sense of self-satisfaction. 

For our climb leader, Yunlong Ong, it was his first successful Jefferson summit, having tried once before. Even more meaningful, it was the very first climb that he led as an official Mazama climb leader. Yet achieving these two hard-earned life goals was not the most significant thing on our climb leader’s mind. 

I hobbled over to congratulate Yunlong—or “Long” as he’s known by friends and fellow Mazamas. As he peeled off his hiking shirt, I noticed the unnatural protrusion on his bare chest, just under his skin. Through this port had been pumped the potent chemicals to battle his gastric cancer. 

This was his first climb after intense rounds of chemotherapy and resection surgery. His salt-and-pepper hair had started to grow back, but just three weeks earlier he had suffered two severe episodes of gastrointestinal bleeding, requiring transfusions, and leaving him weakened. Most people wouldn’t have decided to embark on something as strenuous as climbing a mountain. 

But Long doesn’t believe in limitations. 

Starting with the mountain considered Oregon’s most technical peak, Long began a personal quest to outclimb his cancer. 

A Season of Blitz Climbs 

After his successful summit of Jefferson in the summer of 2019, Long set out on nothing short of a mountaineering blitz. He attempted seven more climbs, reaching six Cascade summits. A schedule shift turned Middle Sister into a burly car-to-car push. 

Just a few days later, I was with him as we zigged-zagged our way up the Emmons glacier on Mt. Rainier. 

It was now late season. The snow had gone through so many thaw-freeze cycles that crampons and ice axes left dings on the hard surface but made no purchase. These conditions, and a sleepless night of howling winds, made the choice to turn back obvious. It would be the first, and only, unsuccessful summit attempt in Long’s push before the end of the Cascade climb season of 2019. 

At the customary post-climb meal of burgers and milkshakes, he gave a little speech to the team. Then he got choked up. 

Most know Long for his big smile. “Hey buddy,” he’ll say as his standard greeting, and if he likes something, it’s “cool beans.” In small social groups that he considers “like-minded,” he reveals his unabashedly playful nature. With his close friends, his form of endearment is to tease them.

But other times, he is often quiet. On climbs, he has an intense focus, his face covered by helmet, sunglasses, and balaclava. He keeps emotions guarded, even bottled up. So when tears come out, it often takes people by surprise. Sometimes it even takes Long by surprise. 

“I’m sorry,” he said to the team after Rainier, though the team understood why we turned back. But it wasn’t the team that Long felt that he’d disappointed. 

He wiped his eyes and collected himself. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I was thinking of my dad.”

Yunlong’s dad and friends on the summit of Borneo’s Mt. Kinabalu, 1966.

From the South China Sea

 Long was born in Brunei, a tiny nation on the island of Borneo looking out across the South China Sea. Islam is the dominant religion and Malay the common language. But Long’s parents were Chinese. At home, they spoke Mandarin and practiced Buddhism.

His dad worked as an air conditioning and refrigerator mechanic. But he had “foresight,” Long says. He enrolled Long in an English school, where Long learned to speak his third language.   

His dad was a man of few words. He worked hard to be a provider, and told his two sons that “education was the way.”

In 1983, the family moved to Singapore. It is smaller in land-size than Brunei, but with more than 5 million people it is one of the most densely populated countries in the world. For his father, the move was an increase in the cost of living to support the family, but it also offered his children a path forward in their education. Singapore has one of the highest youth literacy rates in the world.

In 1996, Long earned his bachelor’s degree from the University of Singapore—the first in the family to graduate college. 

He felt the culture of Singapore was rigid, demanding conformity. The cultural expectation was for him to marry and immediately start a family. Long worked in youth development programs that he describes as similar to Outward Bound. But he didn’t get along with some of his colleagues, he says, due to his “rebellious nature.” 

As Long traveled to various countries of Southeast Asia for his job, he saw life outside the relatively wealthy counties of Brunei and Singapore. The level of medical conditions made a big impression on him, and he felt he wanted to make life better for people. He realized that he could accomplish this through medicine. It was a life-changing epiphany. 

When Long told his father that he wanted to move to America to study medicine, his dad said simply, “Go do what makes you happy.”

Becoming a Nurse and a Mazama

Long moved first to Denver, Colorado to earn a Bachelor of Science in Nursing, then to Los Angeles, California where he entered UCLA for a master’s degree. 

In Los Angeles, Long met Bill, a location manager for Hollywood movies. Bill smiles as he recalls that first chance meeting in a gym, when he asked Long about the t-shirt he was wearing that said “Thailand.” Bill’s eyes get a little misty. “The best thing that ever happened to me,” he says. 

In 2010, Long had the opportunity to continue pursuing his path in medicine at OHSU. He and Bill moved to Portland. 

At OHSU, Long began his career as a Nurse Practitioner, eventually settling into the specialty Pain Management. 

While working on a cardiac ward, he met Mark Stave, a nurse, and, it turned out, a Mazama.

Long had first experienced climbing back in Asia. In Colorado, he hiked a few “14-ers.” But the Northwest’s Cascades offered what Long considered “real climbing”—long-distance approaches, setting up a base camp, and crossing glaciers ripped by crevasses. 

He took the Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP), and a couple years later the Intermediate Climbing School (ICS). Climbing with Mazamas gave Long a community of “like-minded” people who shared his passion for climbing and his love of nature. Having been focused intensely on his academic studies for years, Long could enjoy a new chapter of alpine adventure and camaraderie.

In 2016, he decided to take the final step and enter the Mazama Leadership Development program to become an official Mazama climb leader.

In August 2018, Long had reached his third provisional climb. Never settling for easy, he’d picked North Sister. I was fresh out of BCEP that spring and applied for his climb. Rather than reject me flat out, Long called other climb leaders for a reference. Running background checks like this would later become one of Long’s standard practices as a climb leader. 

On that climb, I got to witness his leadership style. “He tries to get everyone involved in the climb,” says Mark Stave. “I think that makes for a very strong team when everyone feels like they are not just along for the ride.” 

Long successfully completed this final provisional, completing the requirements to apply to become a Mazama climb leader. Barely a month later, Long stood on the summit of Africa’s fabled Kilimanjaro. That same day he learned that he had been approved as a climb leader. Long’s life had reached a true high point.

Before heading back to the U.S., he flew to Singapore to celebrate his dad’s 80th birthday. He had lots of success to report, yet he had one concern that he’d have to deal with when he got back home that he kept to himself. He didn’t want his dad to worry.

“Why is dad so thin?” he asked his mother. 

His mother hadn’t noticed. “When you see someone every single day, you don’t notice the gradual changes,” said Long. 

Before he left, Long said to his younger brother, “Look after dad.”

Yunlong on the summit of Mt. Shuksan. Photo by Daven Berg.

Critical Juncture

Before Long left for Africa, he had experienced gastrointestinal bleeding. His doctor had scheduled an endoscopy for after his return. 

The endoscopy revealed two ulcers. His doctor took a biopsy. When Long saw the image, with his medical training he could see that the cells did not look normal. 

Three days later, the test results confirmed what he’d feared.

“That’s when my world fell apart,” he said. 

He turned to his partner, Bill. “We had to decide what we would do at this critical juncture,” Long said. 

There was so much uncertainty ahead. “What was certain,” said Long, “We love each other. We want to spend this time together.”

A few days after Thanksgiving 2018, they gathered a small group of friends, some of Bill’s family, and a minister. They exchanged vows. They were declared “husband and husband.” 

For him to marry a man was “beyond comprehension” in the culture Long had grown up in. “The opportunity to say that you love someone, of the same gender,” explained Long. “You can be who you are, not what you are.”

Setting His Sights High

At the beginning of 2019, Long started his first round of chemo. But soon after, he flew back to Singapore.

His Dad was having health problems. It started with pneumonia, but had worsened to a delirium where he didn’t know where he was and could not even recognize family members. But when Long went to visit him in the hospital, his dad recognized him and asked, “Why do you have no hair?” 

“Oh, it’s a new fashion,” said Long, not wanting to worry his father.

That spring, Long underwent his second round of chemo and resection surgery. Then he flew back to Singapore again, this time for his dad’s funeral. 

Long’s body was pummeled by more rounds of chemo. And when the last round was done, he turned his sights to mountains.

Starting with Jefferson, he charged six summits, apologizing to his team for being, “a little slower than usual.” 

“I’ve only seen him frustrated once,” says Daven Berg, climbing partner and friend. They were coming down North Sister. After some 13 hours since the alpine start, a day of setting lines and keeping a watchful eye on his team, Long was exhausted and beginning to fall behind. Daven was ahead with the others when he heard a noise come from Long. “It wasn’t a word, and it wasn’t aimed at anyone, but just like a yell up at the sky, just an expression of frustration out loud,” Daven explains. “It wasn’t a theatrical display to draw attention to himself, just a moment. A moment where I realized he was human.”

“Then, he was back to his jovial self.”

Long’s blitz climbs of 2019 might have seemed like a frantic dash to fill every weekend with a climb—going against the common sense to rest and recover after such an intensive medical ordeal and painful loss of his father—but Long had a plan with deeper purpose. 

He had to rebuild his body’s iron levels from the massive blood loss. He wasn’t just scrambling up the familiar Cascades for pure fun—every foot upward was training. 

He charged to the end of the climb season, then headed south to Mexico. He climbed two mountains, 17,343-foot Iztaccihuatl and 18,491-foot Pico De Orizaba. But even these peaks were training for his real goal of 2019. 

He had climbed Africa’s highest peak with his friend Sue, from Singapore. Now they’d set their sights on the highest peak in the Americas, Aconcagua. Rising 22,838 feet above sea level in the Andes of Argentina, it is the highest peak outside the Himalayas. To pick such a superlative summit was fitting for such a difficult year.  

South America had held a special place in Long’s imagination. “It had a mystique,” he said. “It felt exotic, like a true adventure.” 

After his string of summits, Long felt strong again. Ready.

Transcendent Loneliness 

Climbs always seem to start loud, and eventually get quiet. 

This is what Long seeks. “A pure communion between human and mountain, uninterrupted by other human beings,” he said. “I seek the pureness and the transcendent loneliness of the mountain, the mountain breeze that seems to blow away my worries and the pure elation of entering a relationship with the mountains.”

When Long goes on climbs, like our Jefferson climb, he slips away from the group for a moment. “I have some business to take care of,” he’ll say, making a joke about using a blue bag. Which is actually true. But under his potty humor, there’s his spiritual side. He’ll step away from the team to say some prayers in private.

Reaching the summit of Aconcagua was the highest he’d ever been on the planet. Being so high above the world of cities and roads and schools and hospitals, put him closer to a spiritual plane, “energy that we can’t fully understand,” he describes. 

When he is on a mountaintop, Long stops to think about his dad. He keeps a snapshot taken when his dad was a young man, proudly standing with a team on the talus peak of Mt. Kinabalu back in Borneo.

Long recalls the last time he saw his dad in the hospital in Singapore. “Before he died, I sensed he was proud of me,” says Long. 

He offers the wind a prayer. “Dad, wherever you are, I hope I am your pride and joy. I hope you are in a good space. Thank you for giving me this life to do this climb.” 

When Long first moved to America, his dad was worried about his son. “Does he have enough money, someone to take care of him?” 

When Long says his mountaintop prayers, he tells his dad, “Don’t worry about me.” 

Yunlong on Kilimanjaro. Photo by Daven Berg.

More Peaks Than a Lifetime 

Long beat his cancer into remission, but it returned. He resumed the rounds of chemo. He got good news, then bad news, then good news, then more bad … as it too often goes with the cruelty of cancer.

But he doesn’t want to focus on the disease—rather, on resiliency. Thinking about the mountains he will climb gives him something to look forward to. “The life-motivating desire to scale every mountain I can possibly do so with my finite time in this mortal world!”

“As a health-care provider, he’s aware of his prognosis,” says Mark Stave. “I think he’s realistic, but he doesn’t let the diagnosis of cancer hold him back. These are goals he had pre-cancer, and he’s not going to let cancer take those dreams away from him.”

By the end of 2020, Long had set his sights on returning to South America to attempt three large peaks in Ecuador—Cayambe, Cotopaxi, Chimbarazo. He invited Mark and Daven to join.

Long feels drawn back to the Andes. “There are more peaks than we’ve heard of there, the expanse of the unknown,” he says. “Standing on a summit, you can see more peaks than anyone can climb in a lifetime.” 

But that won’t stop Long from trying.

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What’s in Your Snowpack?

The Value of Community Science Snow Observations

Article by David Hill, from the December 2020 Mazama
Sampling snow density with a federal sampler near Thompson Pass, Alaska. Photo: Ryan Crumley.

You don’t need to be a backcountry skier/rider or an alpinist to benefit from reliable information on the snowpack. Now, you probably are if you are reading this, so think about it for a minute…what do you typically want to know and where and when do you want to know it? You might be looking for an avalanche forecast right NOW, which requires site-specific information on the vertical structure and stability of the snowpack. You might be looking for less-detailed information on coverage in the near future– how long of a hike will you have from trailhead to snowline next weekend? Will the bergschrund at the base of the couloir you want to ski still be filled in two weeks from now? Will I have to wax for water again? And, could someone please tell me if the Pearly Gates will be in shape next month?

Well, even if the front country is more your style or (gasp!) you don’t even ski/ride/climb, you still benefit from information about the snow. Snowpack plays a huge role in regional water resources in the Pacific Northwest. Oregon and Washington each receive about 150 cubic kilometers of precipitation each year. In beer units, that’s 300 trillion pints of hoppy IPA, and a fair bit of that falls as snow. Water planners need regional-scale information on snow depth, density, and distribution in order to make accurate estimates of seasonal water yields months out into the future.

Meeting the information needs of these different user groups is a challenge because of these different spatial and temporal requirements. Fortunately, there are a lot of sources of snow data that can help, although they vary in terms of accuracy, coverage, and resolution. In-situ, or on the ground measurements have historically been the most common. These measurements include those made by personnel on the move in the field and also those at fixed, automated stations. An example of the former could be an avalanche forecaster, heli-ski guide, or ski patroller who records a measurement (pit profile, snow depth, snow density, etc.) in a database such as SnowPilot.

Sentinel satellite imagery of the Mt. Cook region, New Zealand

Fixed, automated snow telemetry (or SNOTEL) stations measure snow depth with an ultrasonic sensor and snow-water-equivalent (SWE) with a snow pillow, which is a fluid-filled bladder that measures pressure and therefore the weight of the overlying snowpack. In the western United States, we benefit from an incredible network of these stations, operated by the Natural Resources Conservation Service (NRCS). We have over 800 of these sites that are currently active, and many have periods of record of over 40 years. This is a gold mine of snow data that allows us to understand the current state of the snowpack and also how it has changed over the past several decades.

As if that was not good enough news, there are numerous remote sensing assets that are available to us. NASA has several missions that use airborne Light Detection and Ranging (LIDAR) to map snow depths in exquisite detail. At higher elevations still, there are many satellite missions (NASA, European Space Agency, etc.) that provide precise, high resolution images of snow cover and other snow-related information. The spatial coverage and the frequency of measurement vary among the different missions, and the measurements can be complicated by cloud cover and other environmental conditions.

Since no measurement campaign can measure everywhere, every time, computer modeling can be used to provide estimates on snowpack conditions at other places and times. At the national level, the National Operational Hydrologic Remote Sensing Center produces the Snow Data Assimilation System (SNODAS) data product, which has a 1 km spatial scale and a daily time step. SNODAS grids from 2003 up to today (it is an operational model) can be viewed at a number of websites including www.climateengine.org. The 1 km scale of SNODAS is fine for many applications such as water planning, but is too coarse to resolve local snow redistribution properties such as drifting and avalanching.

Sampling snow density with a federal sampler near Thompson Pass, Alaska. Photo: Ryan Crumley. Right: A sloppy day in coastal Alaska. Photo: Dave Hill

All of the data sources and modeling programs described above help snow scientists, snow safety professionals, and recreationists better understand the current state of the snowpack and also long-term (decadal scale) trends in snowpack characteristics. Opportunity still knocks, however. High-elevation regions of complex terrain are where most of the snow is found. However, that is not where the SNOTEL stations are. Due to the need for vehicular access for installation and maintenance, most SNOTEL sites are in areas of moderate elevation and gentle terrain.

The Community Snow Observations (CSO; communitysnowobs.org;
@communitysnowobs) project began in 2017 to test the idea that backcountry users could help to fill the data gaps that exist in high-elevation mountain areas. In concept, it’s a perfect match. Backcountry skiers, riders, and climbers cover long distances, thrive in high elevations and in complex terrain, and go far away from roads! The CSO vision was that data crowd-sourced by the backcountry community would then be assimilated into high-resolution snowpack models, and these model products could be returned to the public to be obsessed over while planning shenanigans for the coming weekend. In addition, the data would be used in collaborations with other NASA programs that focus on snow processes. So, if you’ve ever dreamed of being a rocket scientist and working with NASA, here’s your chance!

The idea of creating a large network of community scientists is not a new one. In the context of weather and snow observations, the Community Collaborative Rain, Hail and Snow Network (CoCoRaHS) has observers distributed throughout the United States who measure rainfall, snowfall, and hail. However, the CoCoRaHS project is largely a ‘backyard observer’ type program and does not sample high alpine environments. And, community science does have some challenges. The measurements are opportunistic and depend upon decisions made by the participants themselves. CSO can offer some suggestions and guidance, but ultimately must rely on the decisions made by its participants about where and when data come from. Another challenge has to do with data quality control. Tutorials are provided but, in the end, CSO recognizes that measurements are coming from a diverse body of contributors with differing levels of experience with data collection.

Map of modeling domains and sample image of snowpack in western Wyoming. Image: Christina Aragon

Participating in CSO is quick and easy. Depth measurements are made with an avalanche probe or other measuring device. Protocols on making measurements and selecting representative sites are provided on the CSO website. Your smartphone is the second piece of gear you need. Even if you’re out of cell range, the GPS on your phone knows where you are and what time it is, critical pieces of information for the project. Third, you need to have the Mountain Hub app on your phone. Mountain Hub was founded in 2015 with a vision of a crowd-sourced information network for the outdoors. Mountain Hub was acquired by Mammut in 2017 and then just this summer, the CSO project acquired it. Easy-to-follow tutorials on using the app are also found at our website. With just a bit of practice, you can stop, assemble your probe, log a measurement and be on your way in a few minutes. So, stopping to shed a layer? Pull out your probe and send in the data. Ripping skins at the start of a descent? The snow needs a few more minutes to corn up…pull out your probe, check the depth, and tell us all about it. Cooling your heels waiting for your out-of-shape partner to catch up? Might as well do some snow science while you wait…and wait.

Participation in CSO has grown steadily since the project started. We have had about 15,000 submissions from about 3000 unique users around the globe. Measurements to date have been dominated by North America, but we are starting to make inroads in other areas around the globe.

Map of CSO submissions.

So, what’s in it for us? Well, CSO gets unique, high-elevation data that we get to study and share with NASA, and, as noted above, NASA gets to use these data points to validate many of their other snow measurements. But, community science should not be a one-way street. Successful community science projects are collaborative exchanges and CSO is invested in listening to our participants about ways to improve our project and also in delivering to our participants useful, timely information about snow in their region. The CSO project started up in Alaska and our model simulations there have demonstrated that data contributions from community scientists dramatically reduce errors in our snowpack models. Since then, as our project has grown, we have rolled out modeling efforts in many other areas in the western United States. The goal we are working toward is real-time, high-resolution snowpack information in all high elevation areas.

We named the project Community Snow Observations for a reason…community. Backcountry users who see the value in community science and who see the value in trading a bit of their time for the best available information on snow and water resources are the true core of CSO. There is no crowd-sourcing without the crowd and we sincerely hope you will participate this winter. Be sure to visit communitysnowobs.org, sign up for our email list, and follow us at @communitysnowobs on Twitter and Instagram for the latest project results and information. Have a great and safe season.

David Hill is a professor at Oregon State University and a National Geographic Explorer.

David Hill is a professor at Oregon State University and a National Geographic Explorer. For over 25 years, he has studied how water behaves from snowy mountain headwaters to coastal environments. He collaborates with other scientists interested in water’s response to climate drivers and works with stakeholders to provide information on water resources. He currently co-leads the Community Snow Observations project, a citizen science project funded by NASA to improve our understanding of our physical environment. Hill has also recently been an Erskine Fellow at the University of Canterbury, New Zealand. No matter the hemisphere, if it is springtime, you’ll find him out on skis sampling the snow between mountain summit and trailhead.

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Safe Backcountry Recreation This Winter

Article and photographs by Ali Gray, from the December 2020 Mazama Bulletin
Good social distancing in the Mazama Backcountry Skiing course.

As I write this, the United States and the world are waiting in limbo for the results of the 2020 presidential election. What else am I and my fellow winter recreation enthusiasts waiting for? Snow! Each winter, people across the Pacific Northwest get out in greater and greater numbers to enjoy the wonders of winter backcountry recreation.

In fact, backcountry skiing and snowboarding is currently the fastestgrowing segment of the snow sports industry. At the same time, the numbers of people getting out in other ways—think snowmobiling and snowshoeing—are also increasing in leaps and bounds. This is a trend that has been happening for well over a decade.

But then COVID-19 hit. Thrust into a worldwide pandemic in the middle of the prime spring season, ski resorts across the country shut down. With nowhere else to go, and with the prospect of everyday attractions such as concerts, bars and restaurants, museums, and other social gatherings canceled for the foreseeable future, people turned to nature. Trailheads overflowed with recreationists, and backcountry touring equipment sold in record numbers throughout March and April. This trend continued through the summer, with many areas across the Pacific Northwest and beyond seeing more people on our public lands on weekdays than are normally seen during peak weekends and holidays. Weekend warriors like myself started to seek out trails that are more remote and off the beaten path to avoid the crowds.

What does this mean for winter? Ski resorts have implemented plans to remain open during the pandemic, but the reality is that the number of people riding the lifts this winter will be greatly reduced. Winter hiking, snowshoeing, and snowmobiling will also likely be on the rise as those who took to the trails all summer and fall will want to continue the activity while urban activities remain limited. It’s pretty easy to see that backcountry recreation will see record numbers of people out on the slopes and trails this winter. Although I’m delighted more folks will be experiencing nature in the snow, I’m worried about the consequences of more people with less experience in volatile winter environments. So how can you stay safe?

COVID-19 PRECAUTIONS

First off, a no-brainer. Just because you’re outside doesn’t mean you’re safe from COVID. Social distancing and wearing a mask are still important. Remember that studies have shown that fleece neck gaiters and buffs are less effective than cotton face masks and surgical masks. Also remember, cotton is normally a big no-no in the winter because it’s cold when wet and dries slowly, so you may need to bring a handful of masks on your outing, especially if you’re going to be breathing heavily.

KEEPING YOUR DISTANCE (IT’S NOT JUST FOR COVID)

We’ve all heard about avalanches and the risks they pose. Sliding snow isn’t just dangerous for the person that triggers the avalanche—many slides travel much further down the slope than you’d think, and can easily trap people down below who weren’t involved in the initial triggering event. With more people on the slopes this winter, this will be especially important. Be aware of your surroundings and how busy your trail is, and avoid traveling at the bottom of large slopes or in gullies. If you cross a steep, snowy slope, go one at a time. This way, if an avalanche were to occur, only one person is caught instead of your entire group.

SPEAKING OF DISTANCE …

If you’re like me, you may be traveling to fartherout and more remote places this winter to avoid the crowds. Keep in mind that while the trail may not be a conga-line and there may still be fresh powder, you’re also farther away from help. Carrying an emergency beacon is a really good idea, and also, in addition to the 10 essentials, make sure to carry extra warm clothes, socks, gloves, and maybe even a camp stove and small bivy sack. Remember that even a small injury can become way more difficult to manage when it’s freezing and there is snow on the ground, and that it gets dark quickly and early this time of year.

Avalanche debris on the climbing route on Mt. Shasta, 2019.

SPEAKING OF AVALANCHES …

There are going to be more people out this winter, so it’s super important each one of us does what we can to keep each other safe. While many online resources are aimed at skiers and snowboarders, knowledge of avalanches is just as relevant and important for snowshoers, hikers, climbers, and motorized users.

If you haven’t already, attend an avalanche awareness class! These free events are put on by local businesses across the Portland metro area, with many also being offered online this year. Awareness classes last a few hours and will teach you about the types of avalanches, where they occur, and how you can best avoid them. Also, Know Before You Go (kbyg.org), avalanche.org, and Avalanche Canada (avalanche.ca/start-here) are great online resources for avalanche education. The Northwest Avalanche Center (nwac.us) and the Central Oregon Avalanche Center (coavalanche.org) are our go-to places for avalanche information and forecasts in the region.

Want to go further? Take an Avalanche 1, 2, or Rescue course! These indepth classes cover risk management, terrain selection, and rescue techniques, and are imperative for anyone who spends time in the mountains in winter. Classes are filling up faster than normal, so make sure to sign up soon on the AIARE website at avtraining.org.

LEARN MORE

There is so much more to learn about traveling in the backcountry in winter, which won’t all fit here. For more, check out my article covering avalanches, winter weather, and preparing for the unexpected on page 8 of the January 2020 Mazama Bulletin: tinyurl.com/MazJan2020

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Return of a long lost Mazama summit register

The Mazamas was the recipient of a wholly unexpected and valuable object this week. Some of you may recall that back in 1910 the Mazamas sent Claude E. Rusk to Denali, then known as Mt. McKinley, to find out the validity of Dr. Frederick Cook’s claim of making the first ascent. A brief version of that story is available here. As part of that expedition, Rusk’s party was to place on the summit of McKinley a summit register and container. Long story short, Rusk never made it to the summit and the register and container were lost to time. Until last week, that is.

Out of the blue, we got a phone call from a woman saying that she had something she thought we might be interested in. After several missed calls and left messages, we finally connected with her. As she began to describe what was sitting in front of her it began to dawn on us what she had in front of her was the original summit register and container that was intended for the summit. Not only that, but it also was in pristine shape, still contained the actual register book, and was inscribed! We agreed it was something we wanted and she posted it to us that day.

What arrived in the mail the following day was beyond our imagination. As you can see from the photos above, the summit register, while small, is a thing of beauty. Originally a cigar or cigarette holder, it was modified to hold a small leather notebook. Overall it’s in excellent condition and while hard to read due to oxidation, the small brass plaque on the cover reads, “Mazama Record Box Mt. McKinley 1910.”

Of particular interest are the five pages of inscriptions in the front of the register. The first four pages are either the original introduction to the Pacific Monthly article recounting the trip handwritten by Gertrude Metcalf, or a transcription of that introduction. It’s page five that contained information not found anywhere else. Page five contains a list of everyone who gave money to fund the expedition. We’ve known that the Pacific Monthly magazine helped fund a large portion of the trip in exchange for publication rights. What we didn’t know was that many prominent Mazamas also gave to the effort. Among those giving included Martin Gorman, John Long, and Charles Sholes. In addition, we didn’t know that the US Government contributed free passage on the Revenue Cutter Tahoma for the four members of the Mazama expedition.

The surprise came in the amount given by two individuals. Former Mazama Presidents Rodney Glisan and Henry Pittock (through the Oregonian) gave a combined $1150 to the effort. These two donations equal over half of the money raised and are the equivalent of over $28,000 today.

We are grateful to the donor and her family for not only holding on to this valuable object for so many years but also for making sure it found its way back to the Mazamas.

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Day 94: Boundry Line

“Mon 7/14 Waterton Lake Alberta, Canada. … I crossed the Boundary Line at 2 pm, and I took a couple pictures there of myself, then I kept on along the lake down to Waterton Lake town where I got a map from the rangers. And here I am camping tonight.”

Parsons approximate route from Mexico to Canada, April – July, 1924

In 94 days Pete Parsons, a Swedish immigrant who spoke, and wrote, English as a second language, trekked 1,500 miles as the crow flies from the US Mexico border to the boundary with Canada. In reality, the distance he traveled was considerably longer given he was setting his own trail. While it’s true he got a ride here and there, for the most part, he walked from Mexico to Canada, up the Continental Divide, without a formal trail and decades before anyone else. Was he the first? We may never know. Perhaps a band of Native Americans, during their seasonal migrations made the same trek, or a fir trader came south following the ridgelines. Was he one of the earliest Westerns to make the trip, undoubtedly.

Parsons journey doesn’t end at the Canadian Border. He continues on across Canada for while before dropping back into the United States at ???. From there he makes his way south, through Washington, Oregon, before ending his walk in Altavista, California in ????. In Oregon, he climbs Mt Jefferson, where you might recall he signs the summit register. His notation in the register, seen close to a hundred years later, set author and long trail hiker Barney Mann on his eight-year effort to learn more about Pete Parsons. We are thankful that he undertook that effort and we are grateful to the family of Otto Witt for donating Parsons journals, photographs, and other records to the Mazama Library and Historical Collections.

We thank you all for joining us and sharing Pete Parsons journey.

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Day 92: Many Glaciers

“Looking W from Swiftcurrent Pass”

“It was pretty windy all last night but I was snug y cozy after I got into my bag y slept well. This morning I saw a beautiful sunrise, then I hiked down the trail towards Many Glaciers. The trail [something] a rather steep y rough slope y cliffs on this side. After I came down in the valley I saw some quite large bear tracks in the trail which I think was made by a grizzly because of the long claw marks.

“Many Glaciers hotel”

After a while I started to meet lots of people on foot y I went down to the hotel to look for mail but was disappointed in not getting any. Then I bought some clothes also tried to get a pair of tennis shoes but could not so I sent a card to Glacier Park station trying to get a pair from there. The hotel here is very large, 5 story log structure with a very artistic lobby.”