Mount Hood via the Old Chute

Rory King
Aug 12, 2017
4 min read

My best climbs have been all been characteristically noncommittal. Without the pressure of achieving a summit, some normally subtle aspects of the experience are allowed to shine through all the brighter. This was certainly the case on Mount Hood a couple weeks ago.

Michelle and I overslept - again. As it turns out, trying to get some sleep and still leave the house before midnight is just weird. We had planned to climb in April, but abandoned the idea after sleeping through the morning’s best climbing conditions. The season on Hood was rapidly closing out and it seemed unlikely that we’d have another opportunity to climb this year. Once we woke up enough to have an intelligent conversation about it, we decided it was still worth a try – even if we were almost 2 hours behind schedule.

I recently encountered a great maxim for the mountains – “always put yourself a position to get lucky, but never allow yourself to rely on luck.” This one has really stuck with me. We knew that rock and icefall would pose a significant danger near the summit and that the best way to mitigate it would be to travel through those areas before they saw any sunlight. With a late start it seemed unlikely that we’d be able to summit safely, even though it was only 2:30 AM and we packed and ready. We decided to head up anyway, even if it meant just catching a sunrise from the South slopes and not standing on top.

To anyone wishing to climb Hood, I would absolutely recommend some daylight reconnaissance. I had a dim idea of where to go and verified it against a couple online resources. Still I led us right through the Ski area toward the Silcox Hut. The prefered route of travel stays to the perimeter of timberline ski area. That said, walking up the very edge of the freshly groomed Palmer was splendid. Our crampons punctured only a few millimeters into the hard snow, but it felt as secure as velcro. Walking on the tips, nothing like it!

We took it slow. Both of us felt strong, but we weren’t hyper-motivated to summit either. We’d already made our peace in the parking lot. On the slopes, this amounted to lots of breaks to take photos, eat snacks and just enjoy being on the mountain. It was comfortable and relaxing even. Strange to say of a big climb, but that was our attitude on the ascent. The movement felt good and the night air even better. Light came steadily to the sky. From where we stood, the actual dawn was no more remarkable than any other moment in the continuum of light and color. The only tell was the faint shadow of the mountain stretching out across the hills below us, intensifying by the minute.

We made Devil’s Kitchen by about 6:00 AM. The slopes were moderate and going was easy - only broken up by a couple bands of rock here and there. It was daylight now, but the mountain’s crater (and our climbing route) was still out of the sun. We sat around and talked it over. The summit was only another 600 feet, but 600’ of technical climbing on far steeper snow - the day’s challenge. By this time of year, the bergschrund stretched all the way across to the headwall, effectively blocking the standard Pearly Gates route. Instead, we’d ascend the “Old Chute” to the left of the Hogsback. The steepest sections here push 40-45%, the steepest we’d yet seen in the mountains.

From the base of the crater, we scrambled across the most alien landscape of sulphur vents and yellowed rock on our way toward the slope. The smells here are vile and it felt somehow sinister - no place for living things like ourselves. We crossed just above the crater, then started up the well-defined bootpack of the Old Chute. The snow had seen numerous ascents before ours and the conditions were steadily deteriorating. Still, in most places the bootpack was so good it felt like climbing a flight of stairs. The only real issues we encountered were in the last 100 feet to the summit. Here the slopes are steepest and the sturdy bootpack dissolved. The ice and snow formed small granular clumps of spindrift that covered our staircase. It was snow, but climbed more like fine scree or sand. If you kicked long and hard enough you could sometimes find more solid footing underneath, but usually we’d settle for simply burying a foot as deep as we could in the mess and cautiously committing weight to it. Alongside us, the snow was bullet hard and only the pick of our axes could penetrate. All around us though were icy holes for the axe’s shaft, left by the multitudes of climbers earlier in the year. These offered a reasonably assuring self belay on otherwise uncomfortable terrain.

The summit offered great views up and down the pacific crest. The morning’s air was so crisp could see beyond diamond peak to the South and a to Glacier Peak in the North. We took a few minutes enjoying the surprise of actually standing on top, then started the long trek back to the car. We needed to clear Old Chute route quickly, before the sunlight would could loosen the rock and ice. Downclimbing that 100’ section of steeps was the most demanding part of our day. I felt most secure facing in, using the ax in Piolet Panne position, below my torso. Still, with our minimal experience and in such poor snow conditions, we’re calling it the limit of what we’d solo with a single tool. A narrow route like the Old Chute is no place to rope up on a crowded day, but another tool or even just an ice ax leash would have increased my confidence tremendously.