Category: Uncategorized

These blog posts were transferred from our old blogging platform. We are working to categorize them over the next few months, but for now, they are in chronological order.

Posted on

FIRE

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. 


View of the fire from North Sister. Photo: Ania Wiktorowicz

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.


Smoke seen from the trail to the Pole Creek trailhead.
Photos: Ania Wiktorowicz.

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

Posted on

Is it Time for a Change?

by Sarah Bradham, Acting Executive Director

Within the next few months the Mazama membership will have the opportunity to vote on several updates to the Mazama bylaws. There are four proposed bylaws amendments; one related to policies and procedures, and two about the composition of the Executive Council. The fourth change is regarding bringing an end to our glaciated peak membership requirement.

Since our founding on Mt. Hood on July 19, 1894, joining the Mazamas has required stepping foot on the summit of a glaciated peak, and having arrived at the summit under your own power. Throughout the course of our history we have had people of all ages join the Mazamas (we believe the youngest was 3 when they joined!). Whether you climbed Mt. Hood, Everest, or Old Snowy, the glaciated peak summit has been the one common denominator for all of our members. 

The roots of the glaciated peak requirement are in the Oregon Alpine Club, which was formed in 1887. The original idea for the club was mountaineering, but it didn’t take long to expand to include photography, literature, boating, and more. In 1894, William Steel saw an opportunity to create a new group, the Mazamas, which would unify around mountaineering through a membership requirement written into the bylaws, where it has remained since.

Through the years, the Mazamas, just like the Oregon Alpine Club and The Mountaineers (which was an offshoot of the Mazamas) expanded its offerings. The Local Walks Committee was formed in 1912 and was the early incarnation of our current Trail Trips Committee. There have been square dancing events and photography exhibits at the Mazamas. In the 1970s the Whitewater Committee was formed and offered a robust whitewater rafting program until it was phased out in the mid 80s. The Nordic skiing class was created in 1972 and is still going strong. Chuckwagon events, where participants day hike and have their food and gear supplied for them, were popular. Round the Mountain, an annual event where hikers circumnavigate Mt. Hood over three days with nothing but a daypack, while staying at Mazama Lodge each evening, sells out quickly most years with a waiting list. Five years ago we added Adventure WILD (now Mazama Wild) to our program offerings, serving kids ages 4–10 in a summer camp program based out of the Mazama Mountaineering Center. Our Street Rambles program, which was started in1987, is our single largest program based on participant numbers.

The new programming created over the years has increased the number of participants in our programs and increased the variety of people that we are able to serve. In a typical year our climbing related activities and education programs serve approximately 1,800 participants. Conversely, our non-climbing related activities (Trail Trips, Street Rambles, RTM, youth programming) and education programs (Nordic, Canyoneering, Backcountry Skiing) typically serve more than six times that number, with approximately 10,000 participants. Despite this expansion in Mazama programming, we have never lost our focus on mountain recreation, exploration, and conservation. All of our activities and events connect to that core mission. 

However, the unintended consequence of our membership requirement is that many of the people who engage in our programs cannot join the Mazamas. Some of our most dedicated hikers and ramblers, who would gladly go through our hike leader training, are unable to lead hikes for the Mazamas. These are people who we welcome as participants in our activities, but when they want to give back to their community as volunteers, they are met with a closed door—unable to share their expertise on a committee, as a class instructor, or as a hike or ramble leader. 

Every week at the Mazama Mountaineering Center we receive calls and emails from people who have just discovered the Mazamas and are interested in what we do. They are often excited to join and instead of being able to meet their excitement with equal enthusiasm, we must start the conversation with “have you climbed a glaciated peak?” These conversations often end in frustration, confusion, and sadness as the individual realizes they don’t meet our requirement, and don’t know how to go about doing it. 

We have made the argument for years that we are an equitable organization since we allow anyone to participate in our programs and activities, regardless of membership status. However, that participation comes at a cost, as our nonmember rates are higher than for members. Avid outdoor enthusiasts who love our mission and want to help support the Mazamas by becoming members and potentially providing volunteer labor are explicitly not allowed to do so.

If our glaciated peak requirement is about demonstrating skill and fortitude in a mountain environment shouldn’t completing the Elk-Kings traverse in the dead of winter when you frequently need microspikes (if not crampons) suffice? How about running around Mt. Hood in a day, which over 42-miles has 10,000 ft of elevation gain and loss and numerous difficult stream crossings? What about climbing El Capitan, which, on it’s easiest route, is 3,000 ft of technical rock that requires 5.10b skills? All of those activities show a dedication to the mountains and are arguably significantly more difficult than summitting Mount St. Helens or South Sister, and yet they don’t qualify for membership. 

If you have years of experience hiking and climbing, you might be thinking “well, how hard is it to go slog up Mount St. Helens or South Sister?” I feel this is the wrong question to be asking ourselves as we evaluate the glaciated peak requirement. If the requirement is, as we often say, rooted in creating a like-minded community dedicated to the mountains, and yet we view Mount St. Helens and South Sister as easy day hikes, how does climbing either of them contribute to that like-minded community? 

What about the people who have never climbed, but are extremely active in protecting (or creating) wilderness areas to protect the mountains, advocating for the creation of new trailheads to support more mountain recreation, or actively maintaining the trails we frequent? Aren’t those people we would want to welcome into our community that is dedicated to inspiring everyone to love and protect the mountains?

I don’t believe the experience of standing atop a glaciated peak is what unites us. Rather, it is our shared love of the mountains and our desire to belong to a community that is our unifying force. A commitment to sharing in common experiences with others and engaging in activities in which we find personal meaning. That could be teaching someone how to rappel for the first time, climbing to the top of Mt. Hood, participating in a weekly Street Ramble, serving on a committee that helps disperse grant funds to organizations and individuals, planning the Portland Alpine Fest, or travelling with the Mazamas on an Outing, to name just a few of the myriad ways one can actively volunteer with the Mazamas.

For the Mazamas to continue to be a vibrant, valued, and relevant part of our community, it is time to update our bylaws and remove the glaciated peak requirement. As we work to build a truly diverse, equitable, and inclusive community, we must be able to say to everyone who wants to be a Mazama that they are welcome here, as a full-fledged member.

Posted on

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.

Posted on

Mazama Face Mask Design Contest

Now that we have all added a new item to our packing checklist, we thought it was time to make some functional, yet beautiful, masks!

So, whether you’ve found some new quarantine-inspired creativity or you’ve been at it for years, we want to see what you’ve got! Enter as many designs as you’d like and once the submission period ends, the Mazama community will have the chance to vote on their favorite designs. 

The design with the most votes will be available for pre-order purchase, at which time we will close the form and make our order. Masks will be sold for $21 each, with quantity-based discounts to ensure you have a mask for every occasion. The purchase price includes shipping and handling. 

Masks will be made from stretch-woven polyester face fabric and cotton blend lining, with an antimicrobial finish. Comfortable, breathable, and built to last, it’s a great option for everyday wear or your next alpine adventure. Plus, they’re local! All masks will be made in Salem, OR by our friends at NW Alpine. Designers can get an idea of the possibilities at nwalpine.com/collections/masks.

Design Specs*

  • Designs should be in the spirit of the Mazama mission to “inspire everyone to love and protect the mountains.” 
  • Designers may submit as many designs as they choose.
  • Files should be submitted as .ai, .tiff, or .png.
  • The outer mask has 2 sides that get seamed together in the middle. See this PDF for a design template.

*The Mazamas reserve the right to deny design submissions based on our quality and community standards. 

The artist whose design is chosen will receive 10 masks in their design!

Submit your original artwork here!

Posted on

Mazamas Mountain Running Camp

by Amy Urban

Author, Amy Urban
taking a selfie in the
stunning beauty of Mt. Hood.

The first weekend of August brought together seventeen trail runners and four elite trail running instructors for the second annual Mazama Mountain Running Camp. The camp was targeted “for beginner to intermediate runners looking to explore running/training in the mountain environment.” For me, a slow-ish but experienced road marathoner and a long-time mountain hiker, it held promise of improving my skill and allow me to further combine two of my great loves.

On Friday afternoon, our gang assembled at the Mazama Mountaineering Center, loaded up in two vans and headed to Mazama Lodge. During the drive we got acquainted by casually comparing running resumes. There were several Boston Marathon qualifiers, an impressive road running accomplishment. Several people, like me, had recently converted from road to trail running. Others were already experienced at distances of 50-miles and beyond, and at least one was in training for a 100-mile race. And all, unsurprisingly once you get to know the personality of a trail runner, were welcoming and supportive to everyone regardless of level.

After settling in at the lodge—most of our group seeing the beautiful Mazama Lodge for the first time—we did our “get acquainted” power hike (an integral part of mountain running) up to Silcox Hut where we introduced ourselves to the group and, to break the ice, each shared an embarrassing running story. After a quick run back down, we had dinner at the lodge and then some relaxation and songs around the piano before heading to bed early knowing we’d need a good rest in preparation for the two coming days.

Instructor Yassine Diboun leads the way down from
Silcox Hut. Photo: Jacob Raab

Saturday morning started with a quick pre-breakfast run to wake us up and allow us to enjoy the beauty of Mt. Hood. After breakfast we broke into two groups, allowing us to have closer interaction with our instructors. While one group did “boot camp” exercises targeted for runners, the other group learned about mountain safety, including examples of what gear mountain runners could carry for their “10 Essentials”. When the first round was finished, we swapped and did the other session.

After lunch and a brief siesta, we headed out for hill training. Both downhill and uphill running have their secrets and tricks. For me, this part of the camp was overwhelmingly the most valuable part. Never having formal running training, each part of the instruction was entirely new for me. Hills will never be easy, but since I’ve come home from camp I’ve practiced these new techniques and found an enormous difference in what I’m able to do.

Team 2 before setting out to Ramona Falls.
Photo: Jacob Raab

Our camp coincided with the early-August 100-degree+ days in Portland. And while it was considerably cooler up at Mt Hood, it was still a hot day for running up and down the mountain. Sweaty and smiling, we piled back in the vans for a quick trip to cool off in Trillium Lake. After clearing the sweat and cooling our muscles, we gathered in the shady forest there to talk about training loads and strategies.

After a hearty dinner at Mazama Lodge, we enjoyed trail running movies, some shot by or including our instructors running around Mount St. Helens, the Columbia Gorge, and even Mt. Blanc. The main movie was Finding Traction about elite-runner Nikki Kimball’s inspirational quest for the fastest time on Vermont’s Long Trail. Post-movies, we tried out a variety of Petzl headlamps on the trails near the lodge.

Team 1 at Ramona Falls.

Sunday, our final day of camp, started early, with a fortifying breakfast before we headed up to Timberline Lodge for our 14-mile group run to Ramona Falls. Per mountain regulations, and to account for the various skill levels of our group, we split into two small groups for the day. And we ran. Mt Hood and her glaciers were glowing in all her glory. It was a beautiful run.

Sometimes people talk about trail running negatively, assuming that if you’re running through the scenery, you’re missing the beauty that brought you out in the first place. And, to be honest, I originally agreed. “Slow down and smell the flowers!” Over the course of the weekend though, I came to clearly refute this criticism. To a person, the runners in our group remarked on the beauty, stopped to take pictures, paused to take in the views…the same things that non-runners also do in the mountains. But this was also a group of people who found pleasure in running, in the physical sensation of moving exuberantly through the mountains. They weren’t running because they were in a hurry, they were running because running feels great. Feeling great in a place of great beauty, what more could you ask for?

Rebecca enjoying the hill running training. Photo: Jacob Raab

At the end of our run, we again loaded up in the vans to head back to Portland, bidding a fond farewell to our new friends, our generous instructors, Mazama Lodge and the beauty of Mt. Hood and her trails…until next year’s camp.

Learn more about the camp and get ready to sign up for 2016!

A big thank you to our sponsors: 
Icebreaker 
Petzl
CAMP USA
Montrail

Posted on

Nepal: A Great Way to Give Back

Since the devastating earthquakes that hit Nepal in April and May, people have been looking for ways to help the people of the region recover. Initially, the focus was on getting life saving aid to the region – food, water, shelter – to help the people affected go on with their daily lives. But the region needs more help, and you can provide it. This 28-day trip will put you on the ground in several of the affected regions, helping to rebuild destroyed homes, as well as continuing the construction of the Khumbu Climbing Center.

Khumbu, Nepal Service Trek 
Oct. 14–Nov. 11, 2015
28 day trip: Fly to Katmandu and stay in Thamel, an historic district near world heritage sites. A short domestic flight along the Himalayas lands in Lukla and there the trek begins. Trek along the Duh Kosi River on the Mt. Everest Base Camp Trail on the way to the center of the Khumbu: Namche Bazar. The destination is Phortse where we will spend 13 days working to complete the shell of the Khumbu Climbing Center (an Alex Lowe Charitable Foundation project) and help with reconstruction of homes in the village. We will have time to explore Katmandu and take a side trip from Phortse to the Goyko Lakes region.
This is a wonderful opportunity to work with the Sherpa villagers of Phortse to rebuild their lives after the recent devastating earthquake and avalanches & support Nepali expedition workers by working on the KCC.
Seeking people in great condition who possess a sense of adventure and good construction skills. For more information contact Mike Pajunas. Mike has experience in Nepal and at the KCC as he spent 3 weeks working on this project in 2014.
Estimated cost: $4,000, including airfare.
Posted on

Ten Random Areas: Rock Climbing Beyond the US (and Canada and Europe)

by Radek Chalupa

Shirley Chalupa on the spectacular pitch 2 of the 
Sacred Site route on The Moai in Tasman National Park.
Photo: Radek Chalupa.n

We finally stumble back into our camp just as it gets dark, toss down the gear, take off our harnesses and slump down next to the tent. A day and a half of climbing, including a bivy on the thousand meter southeast face of Jebel Misht, and a long and thirsty hike down the opposite side of the mountain are behind us. A search for water in some village (we should learn some Arabic), a bit of hitchhiking, and we’re finally back in camp. We hear the muezzin’s evening call to prayer from a distant village in the valley. We break down camp, toss things in the car, and once again bang up its undercarriage trying to get across a 300-meter-wide dry river bed full of microwave-sized rocks. We reach a small town just shy of midnight and gorge ourselves on roasted lamb in the only open restaurant. Tired, dirty, and—with no plans or reservations—essentially homeless. But we’re in the middle of Oman with a big climb in the bag and we couldn’t be happier.

The choice of how to burn precious vacation time is both exciting and frustrating as we’re always reminded of how little of it we have and how big the world is. It comes down to two questions. First, is there multi-pitch climbing? Second, how interesting is the place itself? Below is a list of areas we’ve tried climbing in and some bits of logistics for each. The hope is that it provides a starting point for further research for those who are interested and perhaps motivates those climbers who generally dislike traveling to try something new.

OMAN:

Making our way among the Bronze Age beehive tombs 
somewhere on the Salma Plateau of the Eastern Hajar 
range, Oman. Photos: Radek Chalupa.

Desert climbing on beautiful, golden-colored limestone. Our trip was only a week long and consequently we climbed only one route, The French Pillar on Jebel Misht, the El Cap of the Arabian Peninsula. Route development here has been going on for a couple of decades, driven mostly by European climbers, though more recently Americans have also shown up. There is an English language guidebook for the country (by R. A. McDonald), but its scope is limited to mostly small climbs. However, excellent information for The French Pillar is available online: www.foordkelcey.net/uae/misht_fp_topo.pdf. Also, internet searches for “Al Hamra” towers and “Wadi Tiwi” should yield some good information. Getting to Oman is reasonably cheap with a few European airlines offering non-stop flights to Muscat. Visa-on-arrival was available in 2014. Once in Oman, you’ll need a rental car and I’d recommend an SUV (gas is cheap) as even some sight-seeing will require high-clearance. Winter is the time to go (we went in February).

WADI RUM, JORDAN:
Wadi Rum is located in southern Jordan near the Saudi border. It’s a maze-like system of canyons defined by huge sandstone formations. Rock quality is generally good—somewhere between Sedona and Red Rocks—and the route lengths range from single to 20+ pitches, with a wide spectrum of difficulty. There’s a guidebook by Tony Howard that can be purchased online. Reasonably priced flights (most via Europe) will get you to Amman (in 2012, visa on arrival) where you can take a pre-arranged taxi all the way to the village at the mouth of Wadi Rum. Renting a car seemed pointless. Once there you can camp by the Rest House in your own tent (or a crappy rented one), buy your meals from them, and use their bathroom and shower facilities (those last two can be memorable adventures in their own right). Hiring a Bedouin guide is almost essential (eg. www.rumguides.com). This person is not a climbing guide but rather an “enabler”—he will drive you out to climbs (though a handful are accessible by walking from the Rest House), supply you with drinking water and other basic needs, arrange cab rides to Petra, and generally keep an eye on you … and, if you’re really lucky, invite you for some very sweet tea or even a family dinner in one of the traditional desert encampments. We visited in mid-February and had mixed weather. Next time we’d go a bit later in the spring or earlier in the fall. Lastly, save a day for checking out the Dead Sea and vicinity.

MADAGASCAR:
The only place with long, multi-pitch routes that we know of is the Tsaranoro Massif located about 90 minutes southwest of the city of Fianarantsoa. This was also the setting for a climbing movie about the establishment of a big new route (Bravo Les Filles) by Lynn Hill, Beth Rodden and team. On the upside, the area is spectacular: colorful, huge, clean granite walls with plenty of lemurs to be seen and heard on the approaches and even on climbs (6b seems to be their free solo limit). The rock is almost totally devoid of cracks and so most of the lines we did were fully bolted. The downside is that the majority of routes were established by climbers much stronger than us. The longest and most spectacular looking lines start at about 7a+ (French or ~5.12-) and the bolt spacing tends to be on the exciting side—not sport climbing. Still, there’s enough climbing to be had at the 5.10-5.11 range to easily fill up a two week trip. Search online for Camp Catta (including Facebook)—their website has most of the topos published. You can buy meals and beer (and peanuts, a staple) from the Camp Catta kitchen and the dinners were outstanding—some of the best French food we’ve had. Getting there can be relatively expensive and painful. Other than some African airlines, Air France operates (2011) a twice weekly flight (so don’t lose your luggage!) from Paris to Antananarivo. After this 11 hour leg, you will have a 12 hour car ride in store which can be prearranged through Camp Catta.

NAMIBIA:
The most established and best known climbing area in the country is centered on a large granite formation called the Spitzkoppe and the nearby domes called Pontoks. There’s a guidebook available (by Eckhardt Haber) and some shops based out of South Africa will ship it to the U.S. Things look great on paper: huge granite formations, beautiful and well established camping, and even a cafeteria nearby run by a friendly South African couple (2013). However, we found the climbing to be generally scary: flaky, exfoliating rock and run-outs on moderate pitches. Fortunately, the main goal of our trip lay several hours away. We came to Namibia with the goal of repeating the 2009 route called The Southern Crossing, established by Majka Burhardt and team on a remote wall called Orabeskopf in the Brandberg Massif.

Online search will show Majka’s beta on the route, including gear recommendations. While the logistics for the Spitzkoppe climbing are pretty straightforward (fly to Windhoek, rent a car and drive yourself), things get a bit more complex for Brandberg. The recommended starting point is to contact Basil Caditz who runs the Brandberg Rest Camp in the old mining settlement of Uis. He is the person who helped us with arranging permits (Brandberg is a protected area) and a porter (no reliable water in the backcountry) as well as transportation to and from the trailhead which is about an hour outside of Uis and requires a high-clearance car to access. The extent of modern day human activity in that valley seems to be limited to three teams of climbers establishing a total of four routes (last one called Hungarob Combination in 2011) with no repeats that we were aware of. The area really feels very remote and way off the beaten track. An incredibly memorable experience.

THAILAND:
Most climbers have heard of the beachside climbing in Railay and Tonsai (multiple guidebooks available, best one is by Somporn Suebhait); and while those are fun and unique (tower climbing right out of a long-tail boat), they are also overrun with westerners making for a pretty diluted cultural experience. A bit of internet research reveals a handful of relatively obscure crags scattered throughout the country. One that captured our interest was called Khao Chin Lae 2 Peak outside the town of Lopburi. The limestone tower rises suddenly out of the rolling sunflower fields of central Thailand and is home to a couple of summit routes (~6 pitches long) as well as many single pitch climbs at its base. The nearby Lopburi is a logical base and off the beaten tourist track. Noom’s Guesthouse is the place to stay as Noom himself is a climber, rents scooters (best way to reach the crag), and makes an excellent cup of coffee. Lastly, don’t forget to pick up a bottle of Hong Thong before heading off to dinner in one of the local establishments. A guide can be found online (namphapayai-camp.com/pdf/topo-lopburi.pdf).

MALAYSIA:
The country has a good selection of small crags scattered throughout both Peninsular Malaysia and Malaysian Borneo regions. The latter is also home to some spectacular looking towers nestled in its jungles (full on expedition value) and the famous Mt. Kinabalu (which has both a complicated permitting system and bad weather). Off the coast of peninsular Malaysia there is also Pulau Tioman, home to a pair of large granite spires called The Dragon Horns. The South Horn is home to more than a half dozen routes, with most being difficult free climbs (13-ish). Exceptions are the original line called Waking Dream (aid, A2+; hardware at belays replaced with Ti glue-ins in 2013 by climbers from Singapore) and Damai Sentosa which apparently clocks in at 6c+. Our attempt on Waking Dream in June of 2014 ended in failure. Despite trying it in Malaysia’s dry season, we encountered severe thunderstorms on an almost daily basis. As far as logistics, I’d recommend flying to Kuala Lumpur (vs. Singapore; less hassle without the extra border crossing) and renting a car. Pulau Tioman is accessed via a ferry that departs from the town of Mersing. Once on the island, a quick hop in a small boat is required to reach the village of Mukut on the southern tip. Contact Mr. Khairudin Haja (Tam) who is an accomplished climber and who runs the Simukut Hill View Resort (facebook.com/simukuthillview) at the base of the Horns.

TASMANIA, AUSTRALIA:
Though the more accessible climbing in Tasmania is typically not very long, it is certainly different (sea stacks) and can be exciting (venomous snakes). A nicely written guidebook on the select climbs on the island by Gerry Narkowicz is a great resource and worth the shipping cost from Australia. There is also a less-glossy but free online guidebook, (thesarvo.com/confluence/display/thesarvo/Climbing). Although we spent our two weeks there with a constant eye on the weather forecasts for the western part of the island, home to longer, alpine-ish climbs like the Frenchman Cap, we never got a good enough weather window to attempt it. We did get a sampling of the much drier eastern Tasmania’s routes: from the sea stacks of the Tasman National Park (which include swims and Tyrolean traverses), to the multi-pitch splitter crack climbs of Ben Lomond and on to the scenic granite domes of Freycinet Peninsula. Tasmania is easy to get to and to explore (rental car is essential), however, it is relatively expensive (2015). Extended camping in the wet environment could be painful and so renting a place with a kitchenette might ultimately be a good way to trim costs.

VALLE COCHAMO, CHILE:
Advertised as the home of big-wall free climbing, this is the easy Patagonia or perhaps the Chilean Yosemite.  We spent two weeks there in the first half of February and had climbable weather about 50 percent of the time. The rock is high quality granite and the routes tend to be long (10 pitches and up) with difficulty starting at about 5.10 but with more options in the 5.11 range. With sufficient lead time, airfares to Puerto Montt can be reasonable. Flying to Santiago and busing (reliable and comfortable) down could be a money saver as well. The rest of the logistics can be taken care of in advance by contacting the folks who run the climbers’ hut in Cochamo Valley (cochamo.com). Here you can arrange your taxi ride from town to the trailhead, as well as pack horses to carry your supplies on the 13-km hike into the Valley. Although the climbers’ hut (Refugio Cochamo) sells breakfasts and dinners, they often run short. In other words, bring most of your own food (and sneak in all of your own alcohol, the hut is dry). The typical approach is to establish a basecamp on the valley floor (solar showers included) and then do overnight or multi-day trips up to adjacent valleys for the climbing. Climbing activity in Cochamo started in the early to mid-2000s and the area is still experiencing much new route development. Consequently, the most complete route beta can be found in binders inside the climbers’ hut—bring a pen, plenty of paper, and some artistic skills for copying the maps and topos by hand (a good rainy day activity).

FREY, ARGENTINA:
Frey is a logical complement to a Cochamo visit: short approaches (once you’re camped out by Refugio Frey), more compact routes, drier but colder weather, and plenty of wine (and  food for purchase) at the hut. The term “alpine cragging” comes to mind. Climbing here is on small to mid-sized granite spires (one to eight pitches) that dot nearby ridges. Rock looks loose and dirty from afar but is in fact clean, solid and well featured. Free camping is available near the hut but you pay for the use of a shared kitchen space (gas stove). Bring a sturdy tent as conditions can be very windy. A nice guidebook by Rolando Garibotti can be purchased at Club Andino in Bariloche. Lastly, transiting between Cochamo (Puerto Varas) and Frey (Bariloche) is probably best done via a public bus rather than a rental car. Dedicate a day to do this and probably more if you’re in a rental car.

MEXICO (BEYOND EL POTRERO CHICO)

A Tyrolean traverse on the descent from Crescent 
Moon Buttress in Nuevo Leon, Mexico. 
Photo: Radek Chalupa.

Despite a several year lull (2010–13ish), hundreds of mostly foreign climbers once again visit the beautiful El Potrero Chico every year. Yet very few seem to venture beyond. High density of well-bolted, long routes, good weather, nice limestone, trivial connections to US cities are all contributing factors. As fun as racking up the pitch count in EPC is, the adventure aspect is a bit lacking. Partially motivated by the publication of a new guidebook (rockclimbing-mexico.com), we did a two-week long road trip through the country starting and ending in Mexico City (and yes, we did venture up north to EPC, as well). Two areas with moderate multi-pitch routes were Parque El Chico in the state of Hidalgo (conglomerate rock towers) and a large monolith called Pena de Bernal in Queretaro. While the climbing was good (all bolted), the setting of the post-card perfect Mexico really completed the experience. Logistics are trivial (cheap flights) though things seemed simpler in a rental car with Mexican plates as opposed to driving in from the US.

Posted on

How to Climb Multi-Pitch Alpine Rock … With Style

Rebecca Schob high up on Paisano Pinnacle as 
Burgundy Spire looms in the background. Photo: Katie Mills. 

by Katie Mills
I used to shy away from long alpine rock routes because hey, when have I ever climbed more than, say, four pitches in a day? Never! There was no way I’d risk getting stuck on some heinous ledge, shivering and thirsty, reluctantly spooning with a stinky climbing partner, praying for the sun to come up.

So I kept climbing in my slow, tedious fashion. Along the way I read some books, endured some ridicule about my bad habits, started training harder, and picked up tips for more efficient climbing. I’d like to share some of them with you.

Reduce pack weight
Pack weight will make or break you. Do you want to climb the North Ridge of Mt. Stuart in two days or four?

When I did the complete North Ridge of Stuart, the only thing I brought for camping was a one-pound sleeping bag. I slept on top of the rope and the back pad from my pack. Besides the clothes I wore, I carried only a lightweight puffy. If you’re doing a day trip, ask yourself whether you can get by with only one pack for the following climber to carry. No, you will not bring your “ten essentials” on a vertical rock climb where speed is safety.

How little water can you carry? While doing Stuart’s North Ridge, we left the ground with 2 liters per person. It’s true we had no water from the summit until we hit Ingalls Creek five hours later. It was uncomfortable, but we were fine. If I weren’t willing to suffer a little, I’d have stuck with cragging.
I started wearing minimalist trail runners on approaches. They work great and weigh much less in my pack than a pair of hiking boots.

Check out Extreme Alpinism by Mark Twight if you want to learn more about what you really need in your pack on a climb. Also, get a lighter pack! I have a small, very lightweight pack I affectionately refer to as my “crusher pack.” It weighs so little it makes me CRUSH! CiloGear makes some great light ones and they are made here in Portland.

Katie Mills enjoying granite for days on 
the north ridge of Mt. Stuart, Washington. 
Photo: Todd Eddie.

Do your homework
How did people climb before the advent of the internet? I would have just wandered around lost in the forest. These days, people put topos on the internet! Sometimes they post photos of mountains with giant red lines painted on them where the routes go!

Study these in town. The better you research the route, the less time you will waste staring at your topo while on route. Know what to expect at different points during the climb. Don’t be the person who does no research and therefore can be of no use when it comes to making navigational decisions. Two informed people are much more likely to make the right decision than one. Getting off route can really ruin your day. If the route looks weird or untraveled, backtrack before you make things worse. People who are “really good at navigation and route finding” probably aren’t any better than you; they just studied the beta beforehand.

Speed up transitions
Many people climb with no sense of urgency. A leisurely pace is fine until you have 20 pitches to complete before the sun goes down. Transition times should take no more than five minutes. Rack gear properly as you clean it. Stop lollygagging. You’ll find more tips in Speed Climbing by Hans Florine and Bill Wright, a highly informative and enjoyable read.

Be a vigilant belayer
Always keep the rope tight on the follower so he/she can climb as fast as possible. I had a partner who thought he was saving time when he stopped belaying me so he could eat. But I wasn’t climbing while he wasn’t belaying. So he really saved us no time. Followers should climb as fast as possible. This is alpine and there is no glory on top rope anyway. Pull on gear and do whatever else it takes to move as fast as you can.

Dial in anchor skills
Take two bomber pieces, each of which you’d trust your life on (three if you’re hanging precariously, or taking a Mazama class), and tie them together with a power point. What are you bumbling around for with your wishy-washy decision-making? Stop wasting precious time! If you can’t build an anchor quickly stick to a smaller scale climb until you’re ready.


Avoid rope drag
One time my lead climber led the route then had such horrible rope drag he couldn’t pull the rope up, so I just stood there dumbly wondering why he wasn’t taking in slack and doing nothing forever. Don’t let that happen to you! When in doubt, extend! If you really need a piece in a wandering area you know is going to cause horrible rope drag, will it be possible to get above the difficult part and then remove it? Check behind you periodically to make sure your rope isn’t caught on a horn or flake.


Combine pitches like a boss

Jeremy Lubkin on the NE Ridge of Mt. Triumph 
in the North Cascades, Washington.  
Photo by Katie Mills

No matter how many pitches the guidebook or topo says (22? 26?), climbing 1,500 to 2,000 feet normally takes a whole day and breaks down into 10 to12 full rope-length pitches. Yes you must run pitches together. Bring a few more slings and rock gear than you normally would. A full rope length pitch is 200 feet. That’s the equivalent of six routes at most climbing gyms. No wonder I’m so exhausted after each outside lead. You have to climb at least twice a week to maintain the endurance needed for a full day of full-length pitches. Hate the rock gym? You’re thinking about it wrong. The rock gym is like a McDonald’s Playland except for adults! I get to go play with my friends! Oh and I get stronger and more badass in the process. This doesn’t seem to happen when I go to happy hour. Cardio and overall fitness is important, too, for building the endurance necessary to tackle long pitches. So keep up the running, biking, rowing, etc.

Should you simul-climb?
Simul-climbing will speed your journey, but fewer pieces of pro and more slack in the rope creates a lot of risk. In deciding whether to simul-climb, consider the terrain. Is it below you and your partner’s ability? Ok, then maybe. More difficult than you expected? Better not. The weaker climber should lead while the stronger follows because if the follower falls, he can rip the leader off the wall. I am comfortable with simul-climbing when I lead since I’m so small I feel like I’m on belay with a portable anchor following behind me.

So maybe you followed all this advice and had an unplanned bivy anyway because you left your new headlamp batteries on the coffee table as you ran out the door and your headlamp died and now you can’t find the critical rappel on descent in the dark and you’re out of water and you start dry heaving after trying to choke down a granola bar and you reluctantly spoon with your climbing partner as you convert your pack into the world’s smallest sleeping bag and pile the rope on top of you as the world’s worst blanket and shiver pathetically through the night. These are the greatest climbs, and the ones you will remember most vividly. And even though you were miserable at the time, you’ll forget the suffering. Instead you’ll remember how much you loved being one with the mountain that night—with no worries about your 9 to 5 job or the laundry or the traffic—when your only focus was making it through the night. You felt the wind on your face. You eagerly awaited the sunrise. And that sunrise was the most beautiful thing you ever saw—so beautiful it made it all worthwhile. Well, that doesn’t sound so bad either. As long as you get out there and climb, you win!

Posted on

Archive Exploration: Harold Bonebrake

by Maggie Tomberlin

Two hikers and Mt. Adam’s southeast face.
Photo: Harold Bonebrake.
As a new archive volunteer, I was excited to explore the Mazama’s historical collection. My first project, accessioning a collection of photographs by the late Harold Bonebrake, did not disappoint. Bonebrake was an avid photographer and an active Mazama in the late 1940s through 1960s. He volunteered his time on several committees, including the photography and research committees, and often showed his work in the Mazama Annual Photographic Exhibition. Highlights from the collection include photographs from past Mazama Annuals and outings, as well as photos of Mt. St. Helens before the eruption. In addition, the collection contains several excellent photographs of local glaciers, providing a valuable record of climate change in the Pacific Northwest.

Two hikers and Mt. Adam’s southeast face. Photo: Harold Bonebrake.
Posted on

Flower Finder: Top Spur Trail to McNeal Point Shelter Loop on Mt. Hood

by Barry Maletzky

Following the maze of roads to access the Top Spur Trail is worth the small effort as this route gains you the quickest access to the wonderful profundity of alpine wildflowers surrounding Mt. Hood, both in forest and meadow. All you have to do is look down at the start of the trail to see a miniature version of the flowering dogwood tree. Bunchberry, also called Canadian Dogwood, looks like someone plucked a cluster of dogwood tree flowers, then strewn them across the forest floor. As with the tree, the actual flowers are tiny dull thing-a-mig things poking up in the center of the four white “petals”, which only masquerade as petals; they’re really leafy bracts colored bright white to attract pollinating insects.

Also prominent in these woods is Parrot’s Beak Lousewort, a low-growing pinkish-purplish plant with reddish leaves. Although the name sounds derogatory, it stems from the belief that many plants in the lousewort genus could rid homes and pets of lice, another myth exploded by reality. All our louseworts (including the famous Elephant’s Head) are in the Snapdragon Family and are thus distant cousins to Indian paintbrushes. Just about ¼ mile in, near a stream area, note Bugbane on your left. This plant, about 3 ft. tall, is visually rare along Northwest trails. It stands out as a spiky white specimen because the actual flowers are tiny but an army of stamens points outward as the most visible feature of the plant. Do not be deceived by its name: it has never protected anyone I know from the biting flies and mosquitoes common in these woods.

The delightful Avalanche Lily peppers the open woods here and although its white flowers droop, they have nothing to be ashamed of. Note the bright yellow centers of these close siblings of the Glacier Lily, which is totally yellow. As you turn right briefly onto the PCT, then almost immediately left onto the Timberline Trail, you may note the delightful Queen’s Cup Lily, a white six-petalled flower resting amidst a cluster of thin parallel-leaved leaves. Parts in sixes or threes usually denote the Lily, Iris, and Orchid Families, quite different in their evolution from most flowering plants, which hold their parts in fours or fives.

You labor upwards here gradually at first and should locate several examples of Merten’s Coral Root, a saprophyte all red and straw in color, lacking the need for any green chlorophyll but making its living off fungi and bacteria in the shaded soil. We have two other Coral Roots in our woodlands – Striped and Spotted. All are actually in the Orchid Family but I’m afraid tropical inhabitants might look down their noses at these compared to their large and colorful cousins down south.

In the transition zones here between forest and meadow, at around 6,000 ft. elevation, blue Jacob’s Ladder graces the sides of the trail. A Phlox Family species, it can be recognized by its ladder-like arrangement of leaves growing up its stems and by the charming sky-blue flowers nodding at the ends of its 6-9” stems. A close cousin, Sky Pilot, grows even higher in our alpine regions. Rub the leaves of either to smell their carrion-like odor, quite in contrast to their pleasant appearance. The trashy smell attracts the flies which pollinate this lovely plant.

You now proceed into the lush west-side meadows so characteristic of the high Cascades. Bear Grass, here up to 10 ft. tall, lends a subtle lily-like perfume, while blue Lupines and crimson Tall Paintbrush paint the meadows by a series of large boulders (note several Tiger Lilies on your left here as well) with spectacular views of Hood’s west face and the Sandy River drainage basin. After several miles on the Timberline Trail, look to your right just after a sharp left bend in the trail to catch the steep spur to McNeil Point Shelter. Walk through a crushing maze of daisy-like pink Cascade Asters and yellow Sawtooth Groundsels (or Senecios), these last with triangular sharply-toothed leaves, along with battalions of Sitka Valerians, the common white-topped plant of alpine meadows. Some of the asters and groundesls are taller than most hikers, giving the feeling of swimming through a floral sea. The rude path steepens here but the way is brightened by the many red and yellow Columbines you pass as you near the shelter.

But do not stop there. A few minutes hike above McNeil Shelter brings you to even grander viewpoints and the presence of my favorite lupine – Lyall’s, or the Sub-alpine Lupine (also called Lobb’s Lupine). The silvery-green leaves provide a gorgeous backdrop for the tiny blue and white pea-like flowers common to all lupines but in miniature: a jewel amongst the giants below. You can continue on an unofficial but well-maintained trail to complete a loop, and thus marvel at scarlet Paintbrushes; blue Lupines; Drummond’s Cinquefoils (the small yellow flowers); and the seedheads of the Western Anemone, with its dusty mop atop 2 ft. tall stems looking for all the world like the grey messy hair of the old man of the mountains. Many Avalanche Lilies will still populate crannies by trailside rocks and, as you descend through woods, the daisy-like yellow heads of Broad-leaf Arnica stand out against the monotone of green.

At several ponds at around 6,500 ft., often dry by mid-August, you will be rewarded with the sight of Fringed Gentian, a 2-ft. tall plant with petals the deepest of blues and green spots held upright and with fringes on each of their edges. In the woods below, just before you rejoin the Timberline Trail, there are two stream crossings which feature large gatherings of two Monkey Flowers: The yellow one is Mountain (or Tilinget’s) Monkey Flower, here mixed vibrantly with the shocking pink of Lewis’ Monkey Flower. These two line streambeds throughout our mountains; monkey flowers are also members of the Snapdragon Family, although their resemblance to an ape escapes me.

This loop often contains patches of snow throughout the summer, especially as it traverses meadows beyond the hut. However, ample footsteps and by-passes preclude the need for an ice ax. The way is only steep and rough in places just below the hut; otherwise, the trails are broad, relatively gentle, view-filled, and provide one of the best alpine flower shows in our state. If you’re not off on a climb and have a free day in July or August, this loop should not be missed.