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This Land is Your Land … Love It, Protect It

by Adam Baylor, Mazamas Stewardship and Communication Manager

Do the immortal words of Woody Guthrie resonant clearly with today’s mountaineers, rock climbers, paddlers, mountain bikers and backcountry skiers? The North Face’s latest ad stirs intense feelings about our recreation experiences and should pose some serious questions about our public lands.

As Mazamas, we have a mission to teach people the art of mountaineering and to help them protect the mountains. That’s been our way of life for 120 years! More than 40 years before Woody’s iconic anthem was even written. Of course, many things on the landscape have changed especially recreation access and the conservation movement. That’s why it’s important for Mazamas to continue to lead the way in getting more people outdoors and protecting the environment.

To make sure we are engaged in this bifurcated mission and considering federal law making that impacts a great swath of Oregon lands, Mazamas and the Outdoor Alliance sent a group of outdoor recreation leaders to Washington, D.C., for the 2014 Advocacy Summit. We met with members of Congress to talk about barriers to access and plans for conservation. We also spoke with federal agency officials at the U.S. Forest Service, Bureau of Land Management, and the Department of Interior.

Oftentimes, I hear our members talk about how federal lawmakers do not hear enough about our interests for too many reasons such as lack of engagement on issues (outreach), public understanding of issues (education), and turnover in Congress coupled with general apathy toward government.

These reasons pose a real threat to our mission and we’re not alone. If we fail to engage in the federal process then our activities on federal lands will be impacted. Examples can be seen in the hundreds of outdoor programs in Oregon and Washington that cannot obtain recreation permits to run classes outdoors. Mazamas is in a good position because of our legacy on Mt. Hood but recreation permitting impacts us financially and will change as we continue to expand our membership.

Another example is through increased recreation fees on federal lands. We continue to experience this process of charging more for recreation access with little to no improvements of the national trail system. The burden keeps shifting to groups like the Mazamas to keep trails in shape. Federal recreation budgets need to be examined and scrutinized in order to create streamlined access to the outdoors especially for young, underserved citizens.

Last year was marked by very significant milestones for recreation and conservation. Not only did we celebrate the Wilderness Act’s 50th anniversary but our dysfunctional Congress actually passed the largest piece of public lands legislation since 2009. Check out NDAA and the public lands protection package for more info.

We also voted in the 2014 Midterm elections as a country in support of conservation efforts through various ballot measures. Here in Portland we approved a multi-million dollar bond measure to support our park system. It seems that the tide is slowly turning in favor of recreation and conservation but is that accurate?

Many people in Washington, D.C., think that any similar conservation action in the next few years is futile. I disagree and I hope Mazamas do too. We have some serious opportunities in Oregon to bring new people to the art of mountaineering, rock climbing and hiking as well as to protect the mountain environments.

How will we do that? We can look to the organizing efforts that the Mazamas have been involved with for decades. But most recently, we’ve worked with the Outdoor Alliance to unify the voices of climbers, hikers, paddlers, mountain bikers and backcountry skiers to promote and protect the human-powered recreation experience and the protection of public lands. This alliance brings together some of the nation’s top outdoor program leaders and conservationists to engage in the issues important to our members. Together we can keep a seat at the table and ensure our plans are successfully implemented.

Our latest strategic plan puts great importance on figuring out how our members can become more engaged in recreation and conservation public policy. We often talk about and take action on things like recreation permits and fees, lack of public participation in forest planning, threats to our ecosystems and watersheds. But we want to do more.

So as we hear those celebrated words of Woody Guthrie, we may realize that the crux has always been the same. To make things better for climbers and hikers, for example, we need to be engaged and organized around the issues. But that takes a great deal of time and resources which for many nonprofits are generally scarce. Streamlining that process through a partnership with the Outdoor Alliance is one way to achieve our goals. To learn more and to get involved in recreation access and conservation, email adam@mazamas.org.

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A Mazama Encounter … Pre-Wild

by Richard Getgen

Richard Getgen with Mt. McLoughlin & Devil’s Peak. 1995.
On December 12 the movie Wild will arrive in theaters in Portland, with Reese Witherspoon playing
a 26-year-old novice PCT hiker named Cheryl Strayed. My wife and I are
wondering, who, if anyone, will be playing us in the movie.  In the book,
Cheryl mentions “encountering a group of backpackers and hikers” as she enters
the Sky Lake Wilderness. That group was Billie Goodwin, Tom Cawi, John
Harmon, Judith Salter, and Richard & Carol Getgen.
John Harmon, Billie Goodwin, unknown, Judith Salter & Tom
Cawi at Crater Lake. 1995.
Billie
Goodwin and I were leading an eight-day Mazama Outing from the rim of Crater
Lake to the south end of Brown Mountain along the PCT.  A foot problem
kept Billie from walking most of the route, so she and Judith spent a week in
the Klamath Falls area while I led Tom and John through the wilderness. 
The five of us met-up on the trail at the south end of the wilderness. 
Billie convinced us to set up camp at Fourmile Lake.  While at Lake of
the Woods, enjoying a hamburger (fine cuisine after a week of freeze-dried
meals), Billie came across a solo backpacker looking for a place to pitch her
tent, and Billie invited her to join our group for the night.  This young
woman was Cheryl Strayed.
Like
many long-distance hikers, Cheryl was “writing a book” of her adventures, and I
had long-since forgotten her plans to capture her trek on paper. 
Seventeen years passed.  When I read Wild a couple of years ago, I got
goosebumps when I realized that her walk coincided with the 1995 outing Billie
and I had led. I immediately went to my hiking journal to see if Cheryl
Strayed was indeed the same woman who shared a campsite with us at Fourmile
Lake all those years ago.
From
my journal of August 1995:
Judith Salter & Tom Cawi at Brown Mountain. 1995.
“The
sun evaporated the clouds late in the afternoon.  This meant a cold
evening (twenty-six degrees).  We gather firewood in an effort to make it
through the evening in comfort.  Our five some was increased by one when a
PCT hiker named Cheryl joined us.  Cheryl had started in the Sierra-Nevada
Mountains and was hiking 1,300 miles to Portland by herself at an average of
twenty miles each day.  She had been cold for the last two weeks due to
the unseasonable ‘fall weather’.” 
I
had a habit of getting out of the tent at sunrise each morning, and on the
frosty morning which Cheryl mentions in her book as being 26 degrees is a quote
from Carol and me.  I promptly started a campfire to thaw-out my stiff
muscles, at which time Carol drove into the campground to join the group. 
(I had telephoned Carol the previous afternoon from Lake of the Woods , and she
drove through the night.)  Carol told me that the radio broadcast had said
it was 26 degrees, and later when Cheryl crept out of her tent she asked me if
I knew how cold it was.
Billie Goodwin in the Sky Lakes Wilderness. 1995.
My
chivalrous act of building a fire on this icy cold morning did not make the
book, but the conversation about the weather did.  It gives me a warm
feeling to know that I am mentioned (not by name) in a New York bestseller,
doing what I like doing most in life: hiking.
After
breakfast that morning, Cheryl continued north toward Woodpecker and Badger
Lakes , and our group walked south along the shoulder of Mt. McLoughlin and
across the lava-strewn mass of Brown Mountain.  That was the last we saw
or heard of her until reading the book.
At
the time, this was not a “meet someone famous” encounter for the group. Cheryl was just another hiker on the trail. The previous night, a
thru-hiker named Trapper camped with us, sharing our campfire. The next
year, when I walked with Billie through the section of trail she had missed in
1995, a woman named Curly camped with us at Red Lake. Billie met Curley
at Cascade Locks a few weeks later, and received a letter from Curly after she
reached Canada.  Cheryl was the only one of us to get published.
In
1995, Billie Goodwin and I were the most-active Mazama hike leaders. Billie and I are still the all-time most-active male and female Mazama hike
leaders.  Billie has led 632 hikes for the Mazamas and I have led 1,071
hikes.

Reese Witherspoon and Laura Dern will be in Portland on Dec. 8 at premiere of Wild (admission to this screening is by invitiation only). They will be joined by Cheryl Strayed. More info on Oregon Live.
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Beacon Rock & Mazamas: A Century Old Trip Report

by Adam Baylor


100 years ago, there was no paved trail to the top. No metal handrail to keep you from the edge. Highway 14 did not exist. Pioneers on horseback passed by the rock instead of logging trucks and tourists in electric cars. Beacon Rock State Park would not exist for another couple decades and only iron spikes and hemp rope protected what is today considered a technical route.


If we look back one century ago, we find a team of intrepid climbers looking up at the northwest face of Beacon Rock. They made the 2nd ascent of what is known as the Spike Route. This month on October 11th, we can celebrate the 3rd major ascent of Beacon Rock by the Mazamas. 47 of them to be exact.

Their adventure was recorded in the December 1914 edition of the Mazama: A Record of Mountaineering in the Pacific Northwest (Volume IV, Number 3, pages 93-94), by C. W. Howard. The story told is of the Spike Route but also of the first ascent of Beacon Rock as well as a fascinating Native American legend.

View showing east face. Photo: C.W. Howard.

We provide a selection of that record of mountaineering by Howard below. An original and complete version of this trip report can be found as always in the Mazama Library but also at the Beacon Rock State Park library as a donation by the Mazamas and the Beacon Rock Climbing Association.


The west side. Photo
C. W. Howard.

“Castle Rock” by C.W. Howard, 1914 (the name changed to Beacon Rock eventually):

Since 1901 a few small parties have succeeded in climbing to the summit of Castle Rock. A party of Mazamas, under Mr. Benefiel, made the climb in 1912, but on October 11th, 1914, the Mazamas made an official climb of the rock and 47 persons reached the summit, this being by far the largest party which has ever stood on its summit at one time. Mr. E. C. Sammons was the leader of the party and to make sure that everything would be in readiness for the main climb, he made a preliminary trip two weeks before. Mrs. C. E. Dillinger, better known to the Mazamas as “Auntie”; Miss Anne Dillinger, Sammons and the writer made up the party. We left Portland on October 3, arriving at Butler at 7:30 P. M. Here we left the train and with somewhat heavy packs hiked about two and one-half miles to our camping place on a small creek about a quarter of a mile from the base of the rock. This was a perfect location for a small camp we soon had a good fire burning and then “Auntie” toasted pumpernickel and prepared beef bouillon — a delicious repast before retiring.

After an early breakfast Miss Dillinger, Sammons and I started the climb, leaving “Auntie” to guard camp and to have dinner prepared for us when we returned. With little difficulty we found the dim trail up the west side of the rock, this being the only practical route to the top. When you stand near the base of Castle Rock and, looking upward, have the trail pointed out to you, you little wonder that was long thought to be an impossible climb. The rock overhangs in places and the rest of the way is just about perpendicular. It is only by working back and forth along the narrow ledges and occasionally pulling yourself up sheer faces of rock by means of the scant shrubbery or a tuft of grass (and sometimes with your nose and eyebrows) that your are able to reach the top.

Mazama Member John Meckel on the Spike Route.
Photo: Jeff Thomas
The most difficult part of the climb is met when about half way up the rock, or about 600 feet above the ground. Here the trail ends at the bottom of a chimney leading to the base of a bald face of rock about 60 feet high and entirely devoid of vegetation.  There are no crevices for hand or foot holds, and to negotiate this chimney and rock face the first climbers had drilled holes and set some iron spikes, by which one could pull himself up. A rope was afterward hung from above. On our reconnoitering trip we found that some of the spikes had become loose enough to become dangerous and that the permanent rope was badly rotted. We stopped here long enough to re-drill the old holes and set in a few additional pins. We also hung a new 70-foot 1-inch rope to replace the old one. Setting the pins on this place was adventuresome work. First Sammons and then myself took turns at it, being suspended in mid-air, as it were, by a painter’s noose made in the large rope. Hanging over the wall added zest to the sport, but I was glad that the rope was new and in perfect condition.
Photo: Jeff Thomas


This dangerous place once surmounted, the balance of the climb is made without especial difficulty, though one must constantly be on the alert for falling rocks and lest he made a misstep, any one of which might prove fatal. We remained on the summit long enough to take a few photographs and then retraced our steps. When we had dropped down off the rock face and through the narrow chimney Sammons, who was in the lead, threw his weight on a dead fir tree, about 6 inches in diameter, to let himself down to a lower ledge of rock. The tree, which had nearly rotted through at the base, snapped under the extra weight and went down with Sammons, while Miss Dillinger and I held our breaths in horror. It was only rare presence of mind and a skillful twist of his body that enabled him to throw himself inward, while falling, onto the first ledge of rock about 8 feet below. He landed in a heap with his feet hanging over a sheer precipice of about 200 feet.

View looking from the summit of Castle
Rock. Photo: H. J. Thorne

On the official climb two weeks later, because of the large number of women who were inexperienced in difficult rock climbing, our leader, Mr. Sammons, hung a number of ropes over the more dangerous places. This proved a wise precaution, for the rains of the week before had made the footing most unsatisfactory, especially where there was a scum of earth and decayed leaves on the sharply sloping basalt ledges. In the main climb one or two persons were struck by small rocks dislodged by the climbers above, but otherwise what is probably one of the most ambitious climbs on the “Local Walks” schedule of the Mazamas came off successfully and with credit to the organization. An official Mazama record box and register were left on the summit.


The owners of Castle Rock contemplate blasting a winding horse trail to the summit, that tourists may have the advantage of that most wonderful view of the Columbia River. The view from the rock is magnificent, one being able to see for miles up and down the Columbia River gorge.

Those who made the official Mazama climb were: R. W. Ayer, C. E. Blakney, H. G. Burco, L. F. Buck, T. R. Conway, William Clarke, Geraldine Coursen, A. M. Churchill, Lella L. Dean, L. P. Dellaire, Edith Ellis, Pearl Ellis, F. J. Glover, Charlotte M. Harris, Pearl Harnois, A. R. Hine, R. W. Heston, R. T. Johnstone, D. M. G. Kerr, Joseph Lind, P. C. Lind, D. G. Lebb, Dr. C. V. Luther, F. P. Luetters, Edith Moore, R. W. Montague, Caroline Montague, Martha Nilsson, Anna D. Nickell, P. G. Payton, E. F. Peterson, Arthur Peterson, Florence Prevost, John Pauer, George X. Riddell, Osmon Royal, C. W. Roblin, Rhoda Ross, Lena Searing, Georgia Smedly, George F. Scott, J. C. Sharp, C. J. Sieberts, H. J. Thorne, A. B. Williams, Louis Waldorf and E. C. Sammons, leader of the expedition.
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Re-united: The power of the Mazamas and Facebook!

Amy Mendenhall reuinited
with her lost Garmin.

by Rico Micallef

The weekend of August 15, 2014 I attempted Mt. Jefferson with the Mazamas – climb #544.
Unfortunately we did not summit. When we arrived at the Red Saddle there was a group of three climbers ahead of us who were making their way across the upper snowfield. We could see the sun beginning to hit the top of the slope, and with a team of 11 climbers it would take too long, the pickets would have to be reset on the decent resulting in descending in the dark, consequently we called it and did not summit.

I was the assistant on the climb, so I proceeded to guide our group down the mountain. As I descended I came across what I originally thought was a camera in the scree. I picked it up, and saw that it was a GPS, so I threw it in my backpack, thinking “I doubt it works, but what the heck I’ll change the batteries when I get home and we will see if it works, worse case I took some garbage off the mountain.” When we stopped for a break, I mentioned my find to the group, where the common response was, wow I doubt it works. So I took it out my pack and switched it on, much to my surprise it turned on! One of the team said it was probably a fellow Mazama that lost it. I figured I might as well post it on the ICS Facebook page and see if I can track down the owner. Below is a copy of my FB post and the corresponding traffic:

Rico Micallef
August 19
********** Found Garmin GPS **********
I found a Garmin GPS on Jeff.
Much to my surprise it still works, it had been sitting on Jeff for over a year!
Based on the track data it was lost in the 2013 climb season!
I’d like to get it back to its rightful owner.
Here is what I need:
What model #?
when did you lose it?
Name some of the saved tracks?
Sorry but as Ronald Reagan said Trust but Verify!
Please feel free repost this

•
Larry Beck Hey Amy Brose Mendenhall, is this yours?
August 19 at 1:15pm • Like
•
Michael Zasadzien Hey, you should post this on cascadeclimbers.com; I’m sure there’s a ton of visibility through that forum!
August 19 at 1:16pm • Like
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Larry Beck Rico Micallef, Amy lost one last year in August on the south ridge above camp at Goat Rock.
August 19 at 1:16pm • Like
•
Amy Brose Mendenhall That might be mine! I lost it last year on Jefferson on the way down. I have no idea what tracks could be in there…but it was a garmin etrex 30. black. with a little waterproof case around it…it probably had tracks from last year (glacier peak, etc). I posted it on cascade climbers last year and figured it was a lost cause….
August 19 at 1:17pm • Like
•
Amy Brose Mendenhall actually, I think it may have NOT had a lanyard on it or a case, and that’s exactly why my current one DOES…I was so pissed when I lost it, but weirdly, we found an active garmin etrex 30 lying in the trail on the PCT on the way down…didn’t keep it, hung it at a trail crossing, but thought it was weird universal gps karma…
August 19 at 1:18pm • Like
•
Amy Brose Mendenhall our jeff climb was 7/12 to 7/14 last year…glacier peak tracks from other people might have been on there, but I did it after Jefferson, so likely none from glacier. it could have had Shasta, hood and st.helens on there, as I did those before Jefferson.
August 19 at 1:21pm • Like
•
Amy Brose Mendenhall or could have been yellow…pretty sure it was black: http://www.rei.com/product/825492/garmin-etrex-30-gps
Garmin eTrex 30 GPS 
www.rei.com
Free Shipping – With a 3-axis compass, full-color display and geocaching, the co… See More
August 19 at 1:21pm • Like
•
Rico Micallef SOLD! That was fast, yes it has a case, and a lanyard, amazing I did not even have to CHANGE the batteries, turned on right away. I am in Inveremere, BC till Sunday, visiting family, I am almost 100% SURE your description matches the Garmin, I will verify it when I get back and get it to you.
August 19 at 1:23pm • Like • 1
•

The author’s sweet reward for his good deed.

Amy Brose Mendenhall Rico, that’s awesome….no rush at all (as I not-so-happily-but-promptly went out and got a new one after I lost it last year). But would love to have it back eventually. Name your favorite beer and six pack is in your future..or whatever! let me know  I lost it in the scree area fairly low on the south ridge. It’s unfathomable that someone randomly came across it and that it somehow still works. Go figure 
August 19 at 1:32pm • Like • 1
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Larry Beck Amy, what Rico will also want is to be on your next Jeff climb!
August 19 at 1:44pm • Unlike • 5
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Rico Micallef No worries, they are not cheap so I am glad to be able to get it back to its rightful owner. Reminds me of the old Timex commercials takes a licking on keeps on ticking! We will have to let Garmin know what a solid product they make.
August 19 at 1:44pm • Like • 1
•
Elisabeth Kay Bowers wow! so cool! now when the glaciers melt out on rainier, we might find Chris Kruell’s!
August 19 at 1:47pm • Like • 3
•
Elisabeth Kay Bowers wonder if fb will exist then…
August 19 at 1:47pm • Like
•
Justin Colquhoun Buhhahaha!! Well done Rico!!! I was only half serious when I suggested it might belong to a fellow Mazama. (note: others suggested this as well)(kudos again for finding it and its owner!)
August 19 at 5:57pm • Edited • Unlike • 3
•
Rico Micallef That was a great call 
August 19 at 2:16pm • Like
•
Regis Krug Now, can you find my tripod over on Park Butte north of Jefferson? Kill the friggin marmot that has it.
August 19 at 4:07pm • Unlike • 2
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Rico Micallef Amy Brose Mendenhall I am back in PDX, give a me shout and we can figure out where to meet to get the Garmin back to you.
August 25 at 1:15pm • Edited • Like
•
Steve Heikkila This thread is amazing.
August 25 at 3:29pm • Like • 4
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Rico Micallef Re-united!
September 4 at 7:37pm • Like • 7
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Rico Micallef and my reward- not necessary but very much appreciated! Thanks Amy Brose Mendenhall
September 4 at 7:48pm • Edited • Like • 7

In addition I have been assured a place on Amy’s next Jefferson climb! Which of course is what I really wanted.

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Jump Right!

I have always liked being in the mountains, but the thought of climbing a mountain never occurred to me until I met my husband Dan. He is a member of The Mazamas, a Portland climbing club. His spare room was full of all sorts of weird gear and he would spend his weekends climbing mountains in the dark.

When Dan was finishing his master’s degree in 1999, he knew he wouldn’t have much time for a girlfriend and he suggested that I take the Mazamas Basic Climbing Education Program. It’s a great class that consists of textbook readings, lectures and field sessions. I was fascinated by that textbook. I learned what all that weird gear was for and why you climb mountains in the middle of the night. And I learned nuggets of wisdom. Like, if you are roped to your climbing partner, and you are walking along a ridge, if your partner starts to fall down one side of the ridge, what you should do is jump off the other side of the ridge so the rope catches you and holds you both. — Yeah, right! I finished the field sessions where I chased my more athletic classmates up steep hikes, and I learned to self arrest, where you jam your ice axe into the snow and thumbtack yourself to the mountain.

Thus, I became an mountaineer.

In 2003, we joined a Mazamas outing to the Swiss Alps. The Eiger, is the classic alpine peak, with a north face so steep that the snow doesn’t stick to it, and it looms darkly above the valley. Well, right next to the Eiger is the Mönch, and at 13,474 feet, it is 500 feet taller than the Eiger, and that’s the mountain we climbed. At the beginning of the twentieth century, the industrious Swiss built a tunnel through the Eiger so you can take a train up to 11,000 feet and start climbing from there. For this reason, the Mönch is actually one of the easiest of the classic Alpine peaks.

But, easy is a relative term, and it soon became apparent that I was the least experienced and the least fit of the eight of us on that climb. After they took everything out of my pack, and put it in theirs I was able to at least keep up with my rope team.

The Mönch consists of a series of boulder fields to climb interspersed with ice ridges. Picture a balance beam — no, make it an ironing board; tip it up at an angle, raise it 1000 feet into the air and cover it with ice, and you get a picture of these ridges. So, I had a lot to think about on this climb. I had to keep the rope taut, not get cut with my crampons, and keep the ice ax in the proper hand, not to mention climb uphill at altitude. But during it all, I kept thinking about how this was the Alps and it was all going to be so worth it at the end.

Toward the top of the climb, I put my ice axe down in the snow next to me, and when I took it out there was a hole in the snow. Through that hole, I could see all the way down to Grindelwald, two miles below me. It occurred to me, that if I had put my foot there, it could have been me going all the way down to Grindelwald. But, I didn’t, and I made it safely to the top.

There were high fives all around and photos taken and I felt — nothing!  Where was my climber’s high? Where was the exhilaration that made it all worth it? The view wasn’t even that good because of the cornice, and we were all crowded together at the top and you couldn’t spend any time up there because you still had to get down and you didn’t want to wait too long because the snow would get slushy and be unsafe. It slowly dawned on me that I wasn’t a mountaineer. I was never going to be one of those people who say, “because it is there.” As we started the descent I started composing my speech to Dan in my head, where I would say that I was glad to have had the experience once, but I didn’t see that I would be continuing to climb with him at this level.

It was early afternoon and we were worried about the sun melting the ice and making it too slushy for crampons to get a good hold. We had just put our crampons back on in preparation to cross an ice ridge. Monty, at the front of my rope had just stepped out on the ice and he turned back to me and said, “I was going to say that the ice feels pretty good, but they just fell.” and he pointed to the ridge ahead of us. About 100 yards away there was a group in front of us and one of them had fallen and was in the process of getting up. It didn’t look that bad at first, but she didn’t get up and she started to slide, and she pulled the next person on the rope with her, starting a chain reaction. As we watched in helpless horror, Sandy, standing next to me, said, “He needs to go right.” and it occurred to me that this was that absurd situation from my climbing textbook. We started to yell, “Jump right! Jump right!”

We didn’t know if they could hear us, but eventually the last man on their rope jumped off the right side of ridge. He jammed his ice axe into the snow and we watched as he fell — up. He was being pulled up the ridge by the weight of the climbers on his rope down the other side. Finally, just before he reached the lip of the ridge, they came to a stop. There, hanging down the left side of the ridge, like beads on a string were four climbers and on the right side was one man holding them all with his ice axe jammed in the snow.

I knew I could be of no help, but both Monty and Dan had training in high angle rescue. I quickly unclipped from the rope and stayed behind while they made their way out on the ridge. As soon as they got close enough, Dan made an anchor with equipment he had with him and attached their rope to the mountain. Then Monty attached the ropes together so that now all of them were connected to the mountain by more than just the one ice axe, and they could begin the slow process of bringing the climbers back up to the top of the ridge, up that slope too steep to just walk up.

Another climbing group came along and helped the stricken climbers down the mountain leaving us to pull the anchor and make our own way down. It was late in the afternoon now, and the weather had changed. It was thundering and raining lightly and we had already heard one avalanche from the neighboring slopes. But, probably the worst time pressure was the fact that the last train down of the day was at 5 and Swiss trains don’t wait for anything. We had some intense climbing to get the rest of the way down and Dan and I were the last two people on that train, getting on just as it left the station.

We met up with the group we rescued in train station. They were a Czech family on their first climb, being led by a family friend. They didn’t speak much English and we communicated by hugs and tears and a Czech beer. Their leader spoke a little better English and he told us that he had heard someone yelling “Jump right” and that had been enough to trigger in his mind his mountaineering training so he knew what he had to do.

The Monch is the most technical mountain I have ever climbed, and it will remain so. I don’t think Dan believes me when I tell him that the rescue is not my reason for not wanting to climb at that level. But I did get a good story out of it. I’m able to say that I once ordered a complete stranger to jump off a cliff. And he did, and he thanked me for it.

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The Mountain Climber’s Conundrum

by Richard Schuler


When I quit smoking I needed
something to do with my hands, so I bought an iPhone. That’s how I started checking
my Facebook status and email every half hour. I used to gauge my stress level
by the number of cigs consumed in a day. They were my friends, each and every
one of them. That’s right, I burned my friends. No wonder they left me. Now, I
check in with my real friends, or at least their internet avatars. At 10:43 p.m. on
a weekday night I lit up my Gmail account and found a message from Rayce, the
leader of my mountain climbing team: The Climbers Against Humanity. Rayce
offered a chance to climb a peak in central Washington called The Tooth, to the
first person who responded. He said it was a four pitch, trad climb, with a
scramble-y approach, a bit of moderately steep snow, followed by some spicy
rappels. It was a 5.4 to 5.6 climb with lots of exposure on a 400 foot block.
In other words, it was well beyond my ability. Still, what an honor it was to
even be considered. I imagined myself on the summit; the sun shining down on my
strong, capable face. If I didn’t take the slot someone else would. Seconds
were ticking.  My heart raced a bit when
I pressed the send button on the email. I’d said yes.

The purpose of this essay is for me
to introduce to what I call the mountain
climber’s conundrum, and how I solved it. At some point in their climbing
career, every mountain climber will ask themselves the following question: why
in God’s name am I doing this? Or perhaps the atheist version: what in the
world made me think this was a good idea? Yet another version is the simple
mantra: get me out of here. Now. In
my case, the mountain climber’s conundrum is particularly challenging for two
reasons. The first is that I am afraid of heights. I became acutely aware of
this condition at the Shrine Circus of 1974. My family and I went to Busch
Stadium in Saint Louis, and it all started well enough. Proud parents and children
passed the ticket takers. The smell of popcorn and cotton candy perfumed the
air. My mother guided us up a ramp that led to the loge seating. Only a few
vertical bars separated us from the street, which got further away with every
step. I made it to the top with only a sick feeling in my stomach, but when we
ascended another ramp my heart started shaking in my chest. She pulled me by
the hand. Up and up we went. When at last we made it to the staircase on the
inner circle of the stadium, I looked up and thought, “There is no way in hell,
lady. I’m not going up that thing.” But I did go up. The higher we went, the
closer to the stairs I got. When we reached the top, I was literally crawling
on my hands and knees, grasping at each seat I passed.

When we finally got seated, I noticed men selling toys and
souvenirs in the aisle. There must have been pendants, stuffed animals, hats
and noise makers. I can’t remember any of it, because to me it was all hideous
crap. The only thing of merit was a sword. Evidently, I begged effectively
because I got it. The blade was a curved scimitar and the hilt had ruby on each
side. When I held the thing in my tiny hands, I felt that life was a good thing
because I’d arrived in a place where adults give swords to children. I have no
memory of clowns, trapeze artists or animals, because when I pulled the blade
from the scabbard, the whole world went black. I was intoxicated, like a teenager
with a bottle of pure grain alcohol. How we got home, I have no idea. The next
memory is that of my father holding the sword in our living room, breaking the
blade over his knee, and shoving it in the trash. My heart died like broken kingdom.
The sword was a fake, a toy made of plastic. Whatever it was, it was gone and I
loved it.

The next day, and each day until my
mother took the trash out, I went to the closet where we kept our can and
visited my broken sword. The smell of sour milk, coffee grounds and cigarette
butts insulted me. What a loss. I didn’t
deserve this. My bottom lip began to stick out. This illustrates the second
reason why the mountain climber’s conundrum is so challenging for me. Even
though I’m an adult now, and I know how to hide it, the voice of a petulant
child survives inside me. If Snow White
and the Seven Dwarves were written for me, they would all be named: Sulky,
Crabby, Peevish, Sullen, Moody, Huffy, Snappish and Touchy. But when I packed
my bag and left for the Tooth, I didn’t hear a petulant voice, or any voice save
that of confidence. When I put my foot on the trail I felt strong. It took
hours to get to the upper cirque snowfield, but when we did I was ready for it.
Strapping the crampons to my boots made me feel super-human. My helmet and the
ice axe looked like Bronze Age weapons, like something from a Wagner opera, and
the landscape was indeed an epic stage. Dark, Douglass firs pointed skyward, to
jagged stone giants. Each one showed its middle finger to the six climbers
posing for a picture in the snow. The pinnacle of The Tooth was somewhere
behind all those fingers, patiently waiting, but I couldn’t see it. Up we went,
over a sun cupped snowfield with red algae stains, and when we reached the edge,
we found a big, scary moat. It was so large, the space between rock and snow
could’ve sheltered a troop of refugees from a Burning Man festival, but it was
empty. I released sigh when we slid down the other side and put a foot on
Pineapple Pass. In no way did Pineapple Pass resemble a fruit from Hawaii. It
was just a notch in a rock wall, across which lay a slide to certain death, but
also a narrow path leading to pinnacle of The Tooth. Rayce called for a lunch
break, so I opened my Empire Strikes Back
lunch box and had a sandwich.

No seriously, I had an Empire Strikes Back lunch box. You can
call Rayce and ask him. It gives me feeling of levity in an austere place such
as a mountain range, and I like the picture of Luke, and Darth Vader flashing
light sabers. It was a movie, and in a movie the hero knows the battle is worth
fighting. Real life isn’t like that. In the world you and I share, there are
just ordinary people who don’t always know what to do. After I closed the lunch
box and pulled on my climbing harness, we moved as a team through Pineapple
Pass to the pinnacle itself. It was at this point that I realized what a
terrible mistake I’d made.

The Tooth was huge. One has to climb
about 400 feet to reach the top, but this is only half the problem. It sits on
top of a base that rises thousands of feet above the valley below, so the eyes
tell the mind to panic, a task easily done. Of the three rope teams, Rayce and
I went first. My bottom lip started to protrude. I pulled it in, but I knew
there was no way I could go through with the climb. What a loss. I didn’t deserve this. Rayce gave me a walkie-talkie
and a cleaning tool. He calmly tied off on the rope and went up the wall,
plugging in various anchors as he went. For those of you who don’t climb, an
anchor is a do-dad which holds a climbing rope to a rock face. The proper
placement of these anchors is what the climber’s life literally depends
on.  My job was to follow behind him and
remove the anchors as I climbed. The yellow rope trailed behind him like a
spider’s thread. For the first fifty feet it looked like some pretty tough
going. Then he climbed over a precipice and was gone. In the absence of a
visible reality, the human mind will create an imagined one, and that reality
is usually the very worst kind. Where the rope went I knew that I too must go,
wherever it led. Seven sulky, crabby, peevish, sullen, moody, huffy, snappish
and touchy voices told me I could never do it. One voice came through the
walkie-talkie, it was Rayce. “The belay is on. Hit it,” he said. To whom should
I listen? Was the battle really worth fighting? At what point does discretion
become the better part of valor? Even if I got to the top, was it worth the
fear it would cost? I didn’t know. For some reason I put my hand on the rock
and pulled.

My internal dialogue went something
like this: Other people do things like
this, but not me. I look like someone in a granola bar commercial and I am
clearly not that person. My place is on a bar stool between Charles Bukowski
and Dracula. My hobby should be dancing tango with beautiful women in stunning
outfits, but instead, my whole body smells like a student’s armpit, and this
helmet makes me look like an unemployed miner. For a hundred feet I thought
this, until I found Rayce at the first belay station, smiling. My hands were
shaking when I handed him the rock anchors. Then the process started again. He
climbed up and disappeared. I looked down and saw a scene from a Coyote and Roadrunner cartoon, the one
where the Wile E. Coyote drops off a cliff and he falls so far that when he
finally hits, it only makes a tiny ‘piff’ noise and puff of dust.  The ledge I stood on wasn’t big enough for two
large pizzas and an overweight tabby, but it was soon joined by three other
people, who obviously had no problem boogieing up the cliff I just panicked on.
When Rayce radioed that the belay was on, I was strangely ready to go higher.

There is a condition known as high
altitude flatulence. When the southern end of me started complaining, I decided
to let the northern end join voices. With each report I said, “Yeah. Uh-huh.”
*@#%! “Tell me about it.”      @#%! “Oh, I
know.” This is how I went up the mountain, grunting, sweating, poozing and
kvetching, but I did make it to the top. There was Racye, shoes off, eating a
bag of niblinz. He was the Frodo Baggins to my Samwise Gamgee, the Don Quixote
to my Sancho Panza, and he said, “Welcome to the top.” I’ve often thought that
a mountain range looks very much like the sea when you view it from the highest
peak; all the ridges blend into one another, but these were not stone waves I
was looking at. This was a concerto, a great staccato upheaval. In such a
landscape only fantastic things took place. There were mastodons and Valkyries
out there somewhere, I was sure of it. I sat next to Rayce and took off my own
shoes. “Frickin’ perfect day,” he said. Climbers call days like the one we were
sitting in a ‘blue bird day’ because the sky is so blue. “It’s a good day to be
alive,” he said.

“It’s a good day to die,” I said.


His expression asked for an
explanation, and so I told him about a Lakota woman I once met at a pow-wow who
said the same thing. She explained that to Native Americans, a person wants to
leave this world when they are at the absolute top of their form. They want to
enter the next world when they have achieved their best in this world. To grab
ahold of fear, pure unadulterated fear, when it feels like warm granite, and
listen to the voices of doubt as you climb it to the top is only half the
battle. When one can hear the voices of fear and doubt, which only say, “You
can’t” and not respond with a defensive “Yes, I can,” but instead with the
simple words I’m sorry– I’m sorry you’re hurting, that is a good
day to die. This is how I solved the mountain climber’s conundrum for that
particular mountain on that particular day. Why did I climb it? To pull the
broken sword from the trash and carry it home. It was a good day to die.        
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120, 100 and 50: Three Milestones for Mazamas

By Adam Baylor



With the climbing season well-underway, it’s easy to remain stoked about exploring the mountains and beyond.  But maybe you need a few more reasons to celebrate mountaineering in the Pacific Northwest!  Here are three unique milestones in our history that you’ll definitely want to commemorate:



First, we can look back 120 years to the summit of Mt. Hood where our mission was set in motion on July 19, 1894.  Multiple generations of mountaineers have bravely ventured into the nearby Cascades and beyond because of Mazama training, fellowship and a shared spirit of adventure.  As we reminisce on our early beginnings, we may ask what sort of challenges do we as modern mountaineers face today?  Certainly the summits of Hood, Rainer, North Sister and the like remain just as difficult but more than a century ago there were major concerns with the protection of our public lands.  Did you know that the Mazamas helped form Crater Lake National Park?  It was through the vision of our first president, William Gladstone Steel, and other Mazama members that grassroots support in Oregon rallied to preserve Crater Lake for future generations.  So what about today?  Is it safe to say that the founder’s vision for protection of public lands remains the same?  Or should we collectively look at yet another challenge that Mazamas can support such as expanding the Crater Lake Wilderness.



The second key milestone in 2014 for the Mazamas is a bit closer to home.  We celebrate the centennial official Mazama climb of Beacon Rock in the Columbia River Gorge which took place on October 11, 1914.  Published in the Mazama: A Record of Mountaineering in the Pacific Northwest (C.W. Howard, 1914, pg. 93-94) a party of 47 Mazamas reached the summit of the 858-foot andesite monolith.  Today, evidence of that historic ascent can be found in the form of iron spikes on Beacon’s Northwest Face.  Where else can modern climbers use 100-year old protection?  Truly, this was an important climb for the Mazamas and to commemorate this nationally significant climbing area we are producing a documentary film about Beacon Rock climbing.  Get inspired and become part of the project by donating to the Beacon Rock climbing legacy!  

Our third milestone in 2014 is the 50th anniversary of the Wilderness Act.  Yes, in 1964 Congress actually did something to protect our wild places!  So what does the future hold for our favorite places to play?  The answer to that question and many more can be found at an upcoming Wilderness Act 50th celebration event at the Mazama Mountaineering Center.  Our Conservation Committee is planning the celebration with a list of guest speakers that range from former Sierra Club director, Michael McCloskey, to Portland-based CRAG Law Center environmental experts.  Join us for the event on September 27 and become part of the inspiring new movement to protect the Pacific Northwest’s wilderness.
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Islands

The author on the summit of Mt. Hood.
by Richard Schuler
                     
The telescope on the back porch of
the Mazama Lodge points directly at the summit of Mount Hood. You can watch
climbers pursuing the summit. They seem as tiny black dots with legs. Just dark
figures moving imperceptibly slow on a triangle of snow. One morning in early
June, I watched such a group for a few minutes, and then I stepped back to the
lodge to refill my coffee cup, and talk with friends. After a few minutes, I
went back to the telescope. My eyes took a second to find the proper distance
from the lens, but then there it was: the white triangle of Mt. Hood with the
bright blue sky behind it, and the black dots of climbers. If I strained, I
could see their microscopic feet taking one step after another. Upward, they
went. The mountain was so huge, how could they even imagine such a task?

The cook rang the iron triangle and
people came running. That sound meant, hot eggs, sausage, pancakes and fruit, but
in the back of my mind, I thought about that climbing team. They should have been
approaching the Old Chute. How terrified I was, when I looked up that wall of
ice for the first time. Inside my rented mountain boots, I was shaken. I looked
for any toehold, no matter how small. I struck the ice axe hard, and I struck
it harder. Up I went. Soon, there was nothing to cling to, and I held on with
the fangs on the front of my crampons and wondered if I had fastened them
right. How far could a person slide under those circumstances, I wondered, five
hundred feet, a thousand feet? It was far enough to die, that’s for sure. Three
people on a rope climbed below me. They looked up with hopeful eyes, as if to
say: keep going, don’t let me down, while
one person urged me on from above. When I came to the top, it was by sliding on
my belly, not striding like a lord.

When my plate was empty I hurried
back to the telescope and searched for the climbing team. The face of Mt. Hood
was empty. I looked left, and then right, even panned the telescope a bit, but
could not find them. As far down the mountain as the trees allowed, I searched.
Nothing. A movement at the top drew my eye, and there they were. The little
team made it. They stood in a row, shoulder to shoulder, close enough to hold
hands. Was one of them waving? As ridiculous as it felt, I waved back. Their
triumph was my triumph. In a way, we were connected.

A second ring of the triangle drew my attention away from the
mountain. This time, it was to announce jobs for the day. Mine was to build a
traffic island in the drive behind the lodge. The first thing we did was to dismantle
a border.  The island had a row of stones
perfectly aligned, forming a nearly perfect oval. It looked artificial because
neatly defined border is the product of a human mind. Lines of contour on a
topographic map, the boundaries of a national park, or a nation itself, are all
imaginary. In nature, things blend into each other. Climb to the top of Mt.
Hood and you will see it flow into Mt. Rainer, Mt. Jefferson and the Three
Sisters. Climb as part of a team and you will feel your connection to others.
This is why we do it. We climb, not just for that one moment on the summit,
when the world slopes away in all directions, and the peaks all look like
frozen waves, but to be a part of a team. It is as John Muir told us many years
ago, “When one tugs at a single thing in nature, he finds it attached to the
rest of the world.” I invite you to make this your mantra the next time you
climb. It could be me on your belay rope, or I could be holding you. Are you
ready? Climb on.   
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Rainier Rematch

by Jon Skeen
Sustained 60 mph winds,
unending clouds, and ultimately having to descend after a forced rest day left
a bad taste in our mouths. We had been blown off the Kautz Glacier on Rainier and now we had unfinished business with the mountain. Clearing skies and calming
winds taunted us as we neared the parking lot. The team was in good spirits and
happy to settle for brunch as consolation, but already the need to go back was
creeping into our thoughts.
The itch was not soothed
by forecasts of blue skies and calm winds the following weekend. Fewer than 48
hours after being thoroughly shut down, we were planning a reattempt. Glenn Widener and his team pushed through the
technical ice and winds the previous weekend, and provided helpful beta on the
ice conditions, location of the infamous fixed line, and Camp Hazard platforms.
John Godino also shared notes from an adjacent route, the Fuhrer Finger, which
boasted of 25 pound packs and encouraged carrying up and over, down the
Disappointment Cleaver. Armed with these reports plus our own first-hand
knowledge, it was time to get the band back together. We had one roster
substitution from the previous weekend, setting the team as Ally Imbody, Eric
Kennedy, Nate Mullen, Hannah Seebach, Kevin Vandemore and me.
Jon Skeen and Eric
Kennedy starting
up the 3rd pitch of ice on the Kautz
Glacier under a super
moon
Spirits were high and
pack weights were down, which was important; the pace had to be more aggressive
this time, as we didn’t have a long weekend to work with. We aimed to make high camp around 11,000
feet Saturday, then head up the Kautz and down the DC Sunday. We got
off to a great start, leaving the trail head at Paradise at exactly 5:05
am. It had been a hot week on the mountain and much of the snow that slowed our
early progress the last time had melted out, making our descent from the trail
onto the Nisqually Glacier more direct. Of course, the disappearing snow had
opened new crevasses and exposed new seracs as well. Undeterred, we roped up
and made our serpentine path towards the Wilson Glacier.
We reached our previous
camp at 9,200 ft. around 11 a.m, shaving about two hours off of our previous time. We
took a break here to refill water bottles from the flowing glacier melt and
marveled at how much familiar landmarks had changed in just six days. We could
see a couple tents set up here, but it wasn’t until we were nearing the bottom
of the Turtle Snowfield that we realized there were twelve tents set up. While
that’s not uncommon for the Emmons Glacier or DC routes, it’s virtually unheard
of for the Kautz. Twelve people is more typical of the population on this line.
We were able to ascertain that the tents belonged to a large group from a
climbing club in Utah, some experienced climbers, some very fresh who probably
didn’t fully appreciate what they had gotten into. Our experiences with these
guys could fill another write-up, but for now let’s let’s just say we really
wanted to stay ahead of them.
Upward we marched,
gaining a thousand feet on the Turtle before taking a quick break for food and
water. We watched two climbers ascending in our boot tracks. As they neared, we
saw what appeared to be a “No Jive Ass” sticker and realized there
was a good chance we knew these dudes. Sure enough, there were two more Mazamas
on the Kautz! Victor Galotti and Brian Wetzel had been camped out where the Nisqually
and Wilson meet and had caught up to us, which I maintain was largely due to
the quality of the steps we were kicking for everyone behind us. We decided to
team up for the rest of the day and through the ice pitches in the morning.
Buoyed by this
encounter, we pushed to the top the the Turtle and into Camp Hazard. We claimed
a few platforms for our team and set off to find the fixed line and get our
first real look at the ice. The route was dramatic: cracked ice hanging above
and waiting below. As if issuing a warning or a challenge, a few large blocks
of ice let lose and tumbled down into the gaping maws below. We returned to our
platforms to work out the next day’s plan, eat, and get to sleep early. We
chatted with a few other small parties and lamented the throng that would be
pressing from below. With our hunger and planning satisfied, it was time to
get as much sleep as possible before our midnight wake up time.
Mt. Rainier Summit
team with Eric Kennedy,
Kevin Vandemore, Ally Imbody, Nate Mullen,
Hannah
Seebach, and Jon Skeen.
The alarms rang, time to
get moving. We made our way to the fixed line via headlamps and the super moon.
Nate was first down. As he reached the bottom we heard a crack! and
looked towards the ice fall to see block after block of ice tumbling across our
traverse line. It’s one thing to know there is danger in the abstract; it’s
another to watch it tumble where you’ll be walking in five minutes. With a
renewed appreciation for the objective hazard, we roped up and shuffled across
as quickly as possible. We made it to the base of the ice without incident and
up went Nate, leading the first of several pitches.
One by one, we ascended
fixed lines, moving in tandem with other teams all fighting to stay ahead of
the giant group we knew was hot on our heels. We managed to stay out front for
a few pitches, but the top came to a bottleneck and we were stuck while we
waited for an opening to push through. Finally, Kevin had a chance to lead the
final pitch and we fought our way out of the chute. I was impressed with our
team’s ability to climb cleanly; altogether we knocked down maybe four pieces
while the other teams around rained ice on everyone below.
Kevin Vandermore scouting the descent route on the DC.
After a quick break to
exchange gear, Victor and Brian set off on their way and the original team
regrouped for a bit before pushing up toward Point Success. We picked our way
up the Kautz, surrounded by the Utah teams. This made the going very slow, but
did allow us to conserve energy. Silver linings, right? After several steps
plunging into air and a few “verbal scuffles” (as I’m choosing to call them)
with the Utah teams, we were able to make our way off the glacier. The crater
was in sight! Just in time too, as clouds were starting to move in. We worked
our way up to the summit and snapped our victory photos. One more quick stop at
the summit register and down into the crater to melt snow.
Once all the bottles
were filled it was time to follow the wands down the DC. By this time the snow
had turned into sugary mush and we were sliding around a little more than is
comfortable on a crevasse riddled downhill trail. A pair of collapsing snow
bridges (which I fear we may have finished off) added additional spice. Down
and down we went, reaching the Cleaver and down climbing a bit of rock to avoid
steep, slippery snow. We made it down the Cleaver, across the Ingraham
(including a ladder over a crevasse), and over to Camp Muir. One last break
before bombing the Muir Snowfield and returning to the parking lot.
While we high-fived and
drank our mandatory Rainiers-on-Rainier, we watched headlamps flickering across
the Kautz. The Utah club was still at it; one of the consequences of ignoring
your turnaround time. We’ve since heard they made it down ok, but two days
overdue. Yikes! Hearing that only makes me more appreciative of the awesome
team we had on this incredible route.