Mt. Adams - July 17

The fourth climb of Pentaquest 2010 took place over 13 hours on Saturday, July 17 when my friend Nick and I attempted the South Spur route up Mt. Adams. At 12,276 feet, Adams is the third highest peak in the Cascades and second highest in Washington behind Mt. Rainier.

Last summer the Pentaquest team spent two days climbing Adams, camping one night halfway up the mountain at a place called the Lunch Counter. Since only two of us were climbing this year, we decided the night before to kick things up a notch by attempting the mountain in a single day - nearly 7,000 vertical feet.

After waking up at 3:00 a.m. and downing some life-sustaining coffee, I drove into Portland to pick up Nick. As we headed into the Columbia Gorge on I-84, the sun started to rise and illuminate my favorite weekend hiking destinations. I'm seriously not sure why the Gorge hasn't been turned into a national park - seeing it at first light is a site to see. At Hood River, we crossed the Columbia into Washington and drove north to the small town of Trout Lake. By 7:00 a.m., we hit the trail from the Cold Springs campground at the edge of the Mt. Adams Wilderness area.

Not unlike the other major Cascade peaks, the path for the South Spur route started by weaving through a heavily forested area. Less than a mile from the campground, the snow-covered trail emerged from the woods and provided a clear view of the day's work to be done. At this stage of the game, even with the upper mountain clearly visible, the distance remaining is still hard to fathom.

As the path continued upward, we followed the frozen bootsteps of previous climbers. Off to the west we caught our first glimpse of Mt. St. Helens. Although 30 miles away, the volcanic giant looks close enough to touch. From the slopes of Adams, you get a sense for what St. Helens looked like before the 1980 eruption. The ash-covered shell that remains is a shadow of its former self. But it's still beautiful, and a monument reminding us what any of the Cascades could do (or will do) in the future.

We continued slogging through the snow for several hours unabated until we reached the Lunch Counter at 9,400 feet. Bizarrely, somewhere in the forest we piqued the interest of several bees that decided following two climbers would be more exciting than whatever they already had going on. These alpine vuvuzelas hounded us for more than an hour until some other distraction finally shifted their attention away from us. More than once I considered taking out my ice axe and practicing my home run swing on them (this probably would have resulted in me getting stung several times and the bees making a clean getaway).

At the Lunch Counter, we stopped for lunch (hence the name) and put on our crampons for the climb up Pikers Peak. As I stated earlier, this is where we camped last year. I saw 15 or 20 tents on the Lunch Counter plateau and the surrounding area. Higher up the mountain, a string of climbers looked like tiny black ants. It reminded me of pictures of people climbing the Golden Stairs on the Chilkoot Trail during the Klondike Gold Rush. I noticed several earlybirds already descending from the summit, glissading past the ascending masses.

The climb up from the Lunch Counter is where altitude and fatigue started to set in. Nick was going stronger than I was, so he proceeded up the mountain going at his own faster pace and I fell behind. I began to struggle and had to dig deep to keep going. A trifecta of lack of sleep, not enough fuel (I hadn't eaten my usual carb meal the night before) and elevation all conspired to hinder my progress. After battling for several hours, I finally reached the top of Pikers Peak.

Many climbers appropriately call Pikers Peak the False Summit. Just when you think you've reached the top, the mountain hits you with another 600 feet before reaching the true summit. At the top of Pikers Peak, I was expecting a gentle stroll across a glacier and a dirt hiking path to the summit (similar to last year). Instead, everything was still covered in snow. I was planning to rest for a few minutes to recharge before heading onward, but a howling wind hastened my departure. I also found myself alone for the first time on the mountain. A could see a handful of climbers descending from the summit, but no one else was around me.

With the final destination in sight, I walked across the summit plateau and forced my body to continue moving forward. About a hundred feet up, Nick and I crossed paths for the first time since Lunch Counter. He had already reached the top and decided to wait for me at the base of the summit so we could descend together. Although I wanted to stop, I knew I was way too close to give up. The last few hundred feet were among the hardest I've climbed. The picture to the right shows the final bootsteps.

Just before 5:00 p.m., I set foot on the summit! It wasn't an impressively fast climb. Coming in at close to nine hours probably placed me among the slower finishers of the day. But I made it. I asked three climbers about to descend to snap my picture with Rainier in the background. After they left, I had the summit to myself for about 20 minutes.

Visibility was unlimited - I could see Mt. Rainier, Goat Rocks and even Glacier Peak to the far north, Mt. St. Helens to the west and Mt. Hood, Mt. Jefferson, the Sisters and Broken Top to the south. Here's a video (the audio is a bit muffled by the wind):

While standing in solitude on the summit, I reflected on life and what the region means to me. I noticed how Adams, although relatively isolated, ties together the entire Cascade range (not unlike how the ardekan rug in the Big Lebowski ties the Dude's room together). You can literally see more than two-thirds of the major peaks (the only two notable exceptions are Mt. Baker and Mt. Shasta). I've long felt the Pacific Northwest or Cascadia - from southern British Columbia to northern California - is my home. But perhaps I've never felt it more strongly than the 20 minutes I spent alone on the summit.

With the sun creeping closer to the edge of the horizon, I decided it was time to descend. A few hundred feet down, I met a climber on his way up to camp for the night. As we talked, I began thinking how great it would be to camp on a summit for Pentaquest 2011. I soon reached Nick and we hiked over to the top of Pikers Peak and prepared for an epic glissade. This time of year, the glissade tubes on Adams are known to resemble water slides. I went first, but realized after a few feet that it was too icy. We both downclimbed 50 feet and tried again. It was still icy, but I decided to tough it out and glissade the 2,000 feet to the Lunch Counter anyway (and as a result, as I type this blog my butt hurts so bad I can barely sit down). Nick wisely decided to downclimb. Rapidly downclimbing at the speed of a jogger, he reached the base of the Lunch Counter even before I did from glissading.

We urgently wanted to get back to the car before nightfall (although we were prepared with headlamps if necessary). After taking a brief break at the Lunch Counter and gazing up at Pikers Peak, we quickly headed down the mountain. Since many climbers had come before us, the descent route was clearly marked. In several places we were able to glissade - and at the lower elevations the snow was much softer. By 8:15 p.m., just as alpenglow was beginning to set in on Mt. Hood, we reached the trailhead.

The climb set single day records for elevation gain for both of us (6,700 feet), and taught me a memorable lesson about how you can hurt yourself when glissading on ice. Climbing Adams in a single day was difficult, but far from impossible. I think the only thing either of us would change is to leave earlier - the conditions a few hours before our descent were better for glissading.

4/5 of Pentaquest 2010 is now complete! The fifth and final climb is South Sister in two weeks.