Lenticular clouds are a bit of a warning; combined with a middling weather forecase for the day, we figured this one might be signalling rain.
For my first foray back to a mountain in crampons after seven years, I took a trip to Mt. St. Helens. After May 15, climbing permits are limited to 100/day; had I known, I would have accompanied the 500+ people who went up on a beautiful Mother’s Day in 2013, many in dresses (even men) to honor the moms of the world. I don’t expect solitude here, and actually, I prefer to see people getting into the outdoors, trying something brave and perhaps new.
The more that go, the more likely people will fall in love with the freedom of the hills and vote for wilderness, fight for access, pay for trail maintenance.
Group from Spokane descending- the gentleman pictured had a knee replacement in February.
But it seems the more people who discover an icon like Mt. St. Helens, the more people think perhaps it’s safe, marked, achievable to anyone. The guides don’t really say what you’ll run into here- an amazing mix of experienced people, inexperienced, responsible people in good company, and people whose actions reinforce how durable humans are. This mountain ain’t my first rodeo, but for me and a lot of other permit holders, the mountain in spring with changeable weather deserves respect. Scarier are the folks who are climbing in cotton- yes! with limited or no gear when the clouds, lovely though they are, sweep in with icy winds and stinging rain. I am still haunted by one girl who stumbled past our camp at timberline the first night, looking purple cheeked, disoriented, and more than a little sick, with her husband ahead asking us to lie about the miles she still had to go at 7:30 pm, and the grandpa behind merrily saying he was able to summit but had to leave her below because she was hypothermic: no wonder since as others reported, it was cloudy, windy, and cold, and she was wearing tennis shoes and cotton sweats. I hope she’s recovered, though sadly I’m guessing she will never go to the mountains again. She wasn’t the only one I worried about.But for folks who came prepared, there were smiles all round, though dubious chance of views on June 2nd. A group from Spokane passed our tent off the trail in the trees at just about the end of the treeline at 3 a.m. The NWS predicted drizzly weather overnight on June 1, but instead it was quiet and clear with dazzling stars and a sliver of a moon, and warm when we got up at 4. We passed two climbers who camped on the snow at up high, and they thought they heard rain or perhaps ice crystals falling on their tent, and felt wind at night.
High camp
Our ridge camp
There was a weather window in the morning, but suddenly the clouds rose and began towering before us. We spied a lenticular cloud toward Adams and the ring around the sun you don’t like to see.
The Spokane group was descending as we were still going up toward the false summit, and told us there was no view into the crater. We’d already gotten expansive views of the forested lowlands spreading before us, impassive Mt. Hood appearing out of the clouds, and nice views of the sculpted snowfields. So we decided the last 300 feet to see more cloud cover could wait for another day. The high campers had decided on a late start, and kept going though bummed the weather was moving in, with guidance from the Spokane leader to go only as far as the footprints because they stayed off the cornice and away from the now-invisible rim.
Sure, it wasn’t that far to go, but we figured we’d come back when there was something to see at the summit besides our own ugly mugs.
The snow got soft and sloppy as we descended; crampons that served well earlier became dangerous. We took them off and glissaded one section with decent runout when the view was good, but quit when an array of people popped up across the slopes below like bowling pins, and the boulders started decorating the borders of the path.
Mt. Adams
The camps along the ridge are great, with trees for shelter and windbreak, and nice views of the mountain- the dining room would have had a front row view of Mt. Hood on a clear day. We saw a hummingbird and later found heather in bloom as a nectar source, and some huckleberry trying to flower. A grey jay found us, and ravens patrolled. We are campers at heart, and would do this trip in the same way again, enjoying a quiet night on the mountain before summiting.
Life is great with fake parts- it’s glorious to walk in the clouds again!
Although I can say I’m experienced, I will also note I am coming back to the mountains after many years struggling with a deteriorating hip that finally crumbled and was replaced in December 2010. I was pretty muscle sore after this trip; I carried a camping pack 1700 feet up, then did 4000 feet to the turnaround, and 5700 feet downhill, the last two sections in the same day. My right hip has less range of motion now, so I couldn’t figure out how to crampon in any position but flat-footed both up and down, using the same overworked set of leg muscles. And climbing the ridge o’rubble to the snowfield wasn’t a cakewalk, either, with my sometimes dubious balance: I felt like the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz, and my cuss-like-a-sailor skills came in handy several times. But I did it: my first foray on crampons in over six years. Onward and upward! Next journey is to the Wapta Icefields to go back to basics and take an Intro to Mountaineering course and get roped. And next year, I’m back on Mother’s Day in a gown and tiara to go with my boots and crampons. . . .
Silver Snag Studio 