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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

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.”

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.”

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.” 

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.

From our Archives: With Oregon is facing historic wildfires, it is an appropriate time to revisit this article from 2012 and hear how one team had to react quickly when faced with a rapidly advancing fire while out on a climb of North Sister.

by Ania Wiktorowicz

On Sept. 9, 2012, a team of seven climbers, under the leadership of John Godino, summited the beautiful and most challenging of the Three Sisters: North Sister, via the South Ridge. The plan was to conquer the beast in two days and be back home safely on Sunday night. However, the beast had different plans for us.

 John Godino, Steve Scovill, Kai Snyder and I met in Portland on Saturday morning and headed to the town of Sisters, where we met the rest of our team: Kurt Gusinde (who has climbed six of the seven tallest summits on each continent), John Rettig (who was going for his 16th peak!) and Andreas Wunderle. We all then headed to the Pole Creek trailhead. At 11 a.m., after a quick gear check, we started a five-mile hike up to our base camp below the Hayden Glacier, where we found a beautiful spot with a great water source and even better views of the Three Sisters. 

Since we arrived at our base camp in the early afternoon, some of us decided to do a little navigation exercise. After looking at the map, playing with our compasses and proving that triangulation indeed does not work, we headed out to Camp Lake where we enjoyed a quick swim in the semi-warm water. 

The next morning, at 5 a.m. sharp, seven sleepy climbers started a long walk up the valley between the Hayden Glacier and the south face of North Sister to the saddle between North and Middle Sister. We mostly stayed to the right side of the melted glacier, where the rock was pretty solid. We arrived at the saddle at 7:40 a.m. and started a long climb up the southwest ridge. This was our preview of how unstable the mountain is. Big, loose boulders did not cooperate with our hands and feet and from time to time someone would yell “Roooock!” causing everyone to hug the mountain even closer. Once we got to the top of the ridge, we breezed through some traverses and 4th-class rock to stand face-to-face with the famous Terrible Traverse. 

John G. decided to set a fixed line—for which I will be eternally thankful. The snow was entirely gone except for a tiny patch of ice. The rock was very loose and one had to fight the urge to use it as handholds. Going through the merely 20 feet of loose rock, I had to remind myself multiple times to breathe. Just as Steve was getting to the anchor, where John G. was already waiting, I saw two fist-sized rocks falling just above their heads. I yelled “Rock! Rock!” and as they put their heads under some larger rocks, a substantial rock fall tumbled down right next to them. It looked as if it would hit Steve and John G., but the rocks fell merely a couple feet away from them, nipping our rope a little. 

From there, we were a couple of minutes and a short scramble away from the Bowling Alley. John G. ran up this section in an impressive 1 minute and 45 seconds, setting up a fixed line, so we, the meager human beings, could slowly follow his lead. The team summited at 11:30 a.m., with John Rettig claiming his 16th peak. We celebrated with an extraordinary Proscuitto e meloné summit treat that he brought to share with the team. 

All the while, as we were approaching the summit, we had been noticing a wildfire in what appeared to be the Pole Creek area, but we weren’t sure how close it was to our cars. What looked so innocent from the summit turned into an adventure only a couple of hours later. 

Except for some scree-skiing down the south side and watching aircraft dropping pretty, orange fire retardant on the wildfire (and our cars, as we found out the next day), the descent was pretty uneventful. We arrived at our camp at 4:15 p.m., took 45 minutes to break camp and headed back to our cars. 

On our hike out, we observed with growing anxiety a huge mushroom cloud of smoke north of us, but we decided to try to get to our cars as quickly and cautiously as we could. Our leader was a former wildland firefighter, which gave our team increased confidence going into a potentially dangerous area. The temperatures were dropping as night approached, and winds were almost zero; both factors were in our favor.

When we were 25 minutes or so from the trailhead, a tree caught on fireabout 100 meters from us. It was so sudden and violent that Kai turned back, looked at us and yelled “RUUUN!!!” We did. After several hundred feet we stopped and looked back. The fire was not following us with a high speed, but we needed to get out of the area and we had to do it FAST. 

 We retraced our steps to the nearest water we had crossed, Soap Creek, and reassessed the situation. The winds were blowing north, and we knew that the fire was on the north side from us, so the team pulled it together and we were soon moving toward the Green Lakes area, which was nine miles to the south. Our objective was Park Meadow, which we knew to be a flat grassy area with no deadwood nearby. The time was 7:20 p.m. and we had one heck of a summit day behind us, yet we had no choice but to push on. 

With two not-very-useful Three Sisters Area maps by Geo-Graphics (they neglected to print the UTM grid and perhaps a couple of creeks here and there), we tried to navigate through the dark forest, nervously looking back from time-to-time to occasionally see an orange glow in the sky, with the fire apparently following our footsteps. 

 At one creek crossing, we came across some gear that belonged to hikers who fled the scene in chaos. After going through their backpacks trying to find some identification, we decided to leave the things as they were and continued on. 

 After some four hours of night hiking, cracking jokes, singing, sleep walking and sugar loading, we came across a stream that we could not locate on the map. We assessed the fire situation again and decided to camp on the trail. 

After a 3½-hour beauty sleep, we were awakened by Andreas’ yell of: “John! It’s red! The sky is red!” We got up to see a reddish glow to the north. We packed our camp in merely 10 minutes and again hit the trail. (We learned a day or two later from infrared maps of the fire that it had barely reached Soap Creek, still miles away to the north, but it sure looked closer at the time.)

We arrived at our destination, Park Meadow, 30 minutes later. Here we stumbled upon some shovels and helmets on the trail. They were left there on purpose by U.S. Forest Service rangers, who were camping nearby, to let the stranded hikers know that they had arrived to help. John G. awoke the lead wilderness ranger, Chris, who somewhat sleepily went into rescue mode. He pulled out his radio and his same, generally useless map and for the next 45 minutes worked with John G. on a plan to get us out of this jumble. We received an update on the car situation: There were four cars completely destroyed, two severely damaged, but the rest of the cars were OK. The ranger did not have any details on which cars were untouched. We were hoping we were the lucky ones. 

We tried to stay quiet, but with all the thrill and excitement of the last 24 hours, we failed miserably and woke up another ranger. We apologized and the response we got was, “It’s totally fine; that’s what we’re here for.” We were all amazed by their professionalism, kindness and willingness to help us. Our transportation out to Sisters was arranged for 9:30 a.m. from the Park Meadow trailhead, which was only five miles away, so we decided to steal one more hour of sleep before heading out. Before leaving, we had time to make coffee and tea for two very appreciative wilderness rangers.

Sure enough, just as we got to the trailhead, the Deschutes County Search and Rescue truck arrived and gave us an update on the fire situation. The fire was spreading fast, and it was possible our current location might even be engulfed in flames by that evening. Since SAR could only take four people at a time, we split the group in two—Steve, John R., Andreas and I got to go first. Park rangers made one of their spare trucks available to the rest of the group in case the fire decided to show up earlier than anticipated and told them where to look for a safe area. Again, AMAZING! 

When we arrived in Sisters, there was already a SAR Incident Command established at the ranger station parking lot. We were immediately approached by the sheriff and asked for any and all information we could give about our cars and fire situation. Within an hour we knew that our cars were not among the four that were destroyed. One hour later, we were rejoined with the rest of our team, and three hours later the sheriff’s department delivered our cars—dirty, covered with fire retardant, with smoky odor, but otherwise unharmed—right to the parking lot. 

All this time our friends and loved ones were in touch with Lee Davis and John G’s wife, Iris, who were calling the sheriff’s department and Deschutes National Forest Ranger Station trying to find any information about our situation. Some of the team members received several voice messages and text messages from the sheriff’s department and ranger station advising us where to go to escape the fire. We got to check these messages once we were safe in town with excellent cell phone reception. 

Thanks to John Godino for his outstanding leadership and excellent expertise in wildfires and stream crossing. We couldn’t have made it without you. As to the term “epic climb”… yeah, we raised the bar. 

Lessons Learned (by John Godino): 

Take your GPS and small-scale map (showing a large area) on every hike or climb you go on, even in areas you’re very familiar with.

If you have a lame map that does not have a good UTM grid on it, draw a grid yourself with a sharpie pen before your trip.

If you see a fire, report it to 911. A compass bearing to the fire and your current location, either a precise map location or preferably a pinpoint location found via GPS, will be very helpful to 911.

A functioning cell phone can be your most critical tool in an emergency. Turn your cell phone off or put it in airplane mode (not stand by) at the trailhead, and have everyone else on the team do the same. If you do not get phone reception in one spot, you may get it close by—don’t give up trying. [Added in 2021: Bring a battery charger or solar charger for your phone with you so you can recharge your phone if needed.]

Climbers have an ethic of not calling for rescue unless you really need one. This is generally a good idea. However, in this situation, calling 911 and telling them we were safe, our current location and intended course of action would have saved our friends and family at home and the local authorities some time and concern. By reading the wilderness permits in the registration box (and on that note, always fill out this permit information completely) and running the license plates of our cars through DMV, SAR knows exactly who is out there (or at least, the owner of the car) and they want to help you any way they can. SAR was actively trying to phone and text us and give instructions on where to go (which turned out to be Park Meadow, precisely the destination we picked on our own). In summary, if you have the slightest idea that someone at home is concerned about you, always call out if possible and tell authorities your condition, even if it is 100 percent happy. 

Given sufficient motivation, it is possible for an entire climb team to get up from a sound sleep, pack and start hiking in under 10 minutes.

Take the 10 essentials on every hike or climb you go on. Our team was exceptionally well-prepared with food, water, shelter, clothing, stoves, navigational tools and the skills to use them, along with fitness and great morale. If any one or more of these things were absent, what was a pretty pleasant night hike and a happy ending could easily have turned into something else. Although we were well prepared, we could’ve easily run into day hikers in shorts and t-shirts, unable to reach their car and looking at a very uncomfortable night out. The extra gear that we might have shared with them could literally have saved their lives. υ

The Value of Community Science Snow Observations

Article by David Hill, from the December 2020 Mazama

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.