Mount Adams via the South Spur

Climbing before dawn is always special. I can vividly remember scenes from every alpine start we’ve embarked on, and cherish them all. Adding another to the list was a major reason for climbing Mount Adams, or at least our decision to climb its 7000’ in a single day. The goal was to travel fast and light, making strategic stops as necessary for water or changing into/out of crampons. After 12 hours on the mountain we’re calling it more like light and “moderate” instead. Careful summer packing minimized the weight, but there wasn’t a lot of spring in our step for this one either.

We left the trailhead under cool, clear skies and a blazing cover of stars – 2 AM. The trail was broad and easy to follow, even by headlamp. We made our first stop where it crossed a small creek and pumped water for the rest of our climb. We’d been warm on the trail, but soon got chilly stopped at the creek. It felt good to set off again. Approaching the crescent glacier, there’s a network of use trails, most of them trending towards the West rim. Navigating the blocky trail and loose rocks in the dark was the closest thing to a technical challenge on our route. (Note: climbing earlier in the season would definitely be preferable, as this section would climb so much better on snow.)

We encountered the first snowfield around 8000’ after a flatter spot on the rocks that had a few tents set up. We stopped for snack and to get our snow gear out. The Eastern sky was just beginning to brighten and snow reflected so much light that we were able to stow our headlamps. Climbing the snow field felt a lot better, but the building sunrise proved to be a major distraction. We’d only manage a couple steps before getting the camera out again to capture the rising light and color. We couldn’t see the horizon from below lunch-counter but the moment of sunrise was unmistakable nonetheless. We were treated to oranges and salmon pinks, all over the deep purples and blues of the morning sky. Truly spectacular few minutes of color and without question a highlight of the day.

The ascent from Lunch-counter to Piker’s peak is pretty substantial. It never gets alarmingly steep, but it’s also difficult to judge just how big that snowfield is. Progress feels very slow and pacing becomes critical. Michelle and I found that making a zigzagging diagonal ascent kept our ankles happy and allowed a more normal walking cadence. It’s not steep enough to necessitate this, but we found it helpful all the same. I know a lot of people carry only “trail” crampons on Adams and try to get by with trail runners or light hiking shoes, but I was glad we’d brought our mountaineering boots steel semi-rigid crampons. First of all, they’re fun and look cool, but I also thought it was worthwhile having them on the rough and suncupped late season snow. Having the support of a boot gave more confident steps and required less work from our feet.

After Piker’s Peak, the route levels out for spell, crossing a long saddle before the final push to the summit. We removed our crampons here and were happy we did. The last 600’ or so of climbing was pretty miserable in August. The snow had melted out, meaning that any climbing would have to be done on the rubble of cinder below. It was loose and made progress challenging. This leg of the climb drug on for us and Michelle was really feeling the day’s effort by this point. We eventually made the summit, and were thrilled that we did. Mount Rainier fills the panorama, but there’s also a great look at the Goat Rocks Wilderness and beyond. We could plainly see the Enchantments and make out the faint profile of Glacier Peak, much further North. It was very cool to have a look at the mountains of Washington - this was the first time we’d laid eyes on many of our objectives for the coming year.

We didn’t know yet, but the mountain had one more big treat in store for us. We’d seen some downright scary attempts at glissading the morning’s icy snow and weren’t too thrilled at the idea. Just below Piker’s Peak we arrived at the chutes. There are two or three of them, entrenched in the snow about 4 feet at their deepest points. Imagine the banked corners of a bobsled run. On the South Slopes down to the Lunch Counter, they are prominent enough to be seen from the car and descent a little over 2000 feet. The snow was just beginning to soften in the morning’s intermittent sun and I decided to give it a go.

I should say that up until this point, I’ve had miserable glissading experiences. Saint Helens was too icy, Shasta too bumpy and too high above sea-level, and just forget about it on Hood. I was skeptical to be sure. The glissades of Adams are legendary however, and for good reason! The snow was just soft enough for some semblance of control with ax, heels, and banked corners. The greatest single moment of my day was hitting a hardened snow drift blocking the glissade tube and blasting through in a spray of spindrift and hollers. Yeww!!