Climb: Mt. Hood-Sandy Glacier Headwall
Date of Climb: 3/13/2004
Trip Report:
The Big Hurt on the Lonely Sandy
Knew the weather was gonna be good for Saturday, but was late in trying to arrange a partner. After trying to talk a few folks into climbing something on the Sandy, I reckoned if I wanted to do it so damn much, I might as well do it meself and stfu.
Dickloads of folks in the t-line lot by 130 Saturday morning, but almost all seemed bound for the dog route. Saw a few folks w/ climbing forms for the Reid and Luetholds in the hut, but didn't see anybody going for Yocums or the Sandy, so I relished the prospect of finding a little solitude in the midst of the masses.
Headed uphill be 2. Fantastic footing...no postholing the whole day. Made much better time up to Illumination then last month's abortive Yocum attempt, no doubt due to the 4 safety breaks; at the first by Silcox, a guy named Josh from the tri-cities stumbled into me in the dark and caught a buzz as a result. His amigos had ditched his ass, and he ended up changing his route to Luetholds, which I pointed out before parting his company down on the Reid.
Was at Illumination gap at 5 and a little surprised not to encounter anyway else hanging out there. Saw no signs of anybody down on the glacier in the first light, so figured Josh and I were just the first there. Shooting stars above Illumination and the roar of a jet passing just over the mountain.
Good firm snow on the backside of the gap, and down on level ground the headlamps could be turned off. Josh, who was on the mountain for only his second time, seemed a bit apprehensive looking uphill as I explained where he should go; I thought momentarily about playing tour guide, but the conditions seemed so good, and my opportunities for escaping the tyranny of fatherhood so rare, that I wanted to do what I’d set out for. 8-ball asked several times if the Sandy wouldn't go for him w/ just an axe. I told him I was sure it had been climbed in blue-jeans w/ a bowie knife at some point in history, but since I hadn't seen it for myself before, I didn't feel responsible in encouraging him to do it w/ as little experience as he had (though I must have felt it responsible to cut a novice loose and alone on a relatively untrafficked side of the hill). He headed up the couloir ably enough and I’m sure he made it as I didn't encounter his mangled corpse at the bottom when I made my miserable way back across the Reid a few hours later.
Don't know why there's so much hub-bub about crossing Yocums. The ramp seems quite obvious as it's the first opportunity to get off the Reid and staying level is pretty easy. The weirdo rime peeked through in a few locations and was bullet-proof. Tempted for a few seconds to solo Yocums, as the ridge appeared in far better shape then it had the month before and I felt strong. Still, I could see my 6 month old daughter hating me for it in a few years if I fucked up, so I kept on traversing. I’ll be back someday soon enough.
getting off the ridge onto the sandy side was a little more interesting then I expected. several crevasses were already opened and a long bergschrund was expanding up against the ridge. After a bit of steepish downclimbing I found a slender snowbridge. My testicles ascended into my tonsils when a block I stepped on settled a foot into the still shallow crack. occasionally I saw evidence of a single set of foot-prints, I assume they'd been made in the last week. Maybe they accounted for the huge turd sitting on the surface that was slowly inching its crusty brown way downhill.
At this point my feet were hurting a bit. I’d been breaking my new boots in all week but apparently that wasn't long enough. Still, by 730 I was heading up hill once again, experimenting w/ different ways of arranging my feet so as to relieve the pressure on the blisters on my heels. I think I was a little disappointed w/ this side of the mountain, remembering the amazement I’d had for the Reid and Elliot sides when I’d first beheld them. Certainly this side of Yocums ridge is more savage and elegant, and I must imagine there's a lot here that has never been climbed. I wasn't entirely certain of the route, but I went pretty far towards Cathedral ridge before turning up, as every earlier start appeared to end up near the gap at the top of Yocum, just under that huge upper wall. I’d been hoping the route here would have more of the same exquistily narrow and enticing gullies as the Reid route does, but instead it was a fairly broad, unfeatured, unvarying moderate slope.
I’d been noticing a fair amount of icefall prior to 7, and had already crossed a number of runnels gouged out by falling debris, but as I headed towards the obvious merging of the headwall and Cathedral ridge, the intensity and quality of the barrage changed. Small ice crystals mixed more and more with large chunks, some as big as cannonballs that went whizzing by with the same ferocity. I could see the origin of most of the shot, Cathedral ridge on the left, and the larger wall just right of my aiming point. I was a little concerned, as alone and unroped I’d likely ruin my Gore-Tex and all that expensive climbing equipment if I got beaned and knocked down the long, long slope. Keeping an eye uphill wasn't too helpful either. The ice materialized imperceptivily from the white, bouncing and ricocheting wildly. Nonetheless, I figured I was only a few hundred feet from the ridge, and I knew the last 1000 feet to the summit was a cakewalk, so if I could just motor quickly through this part all would be well. Christ, there was no way I wanted to retrace that endless traverse from the Palmer!
The first solid shot I took was to the head, but my helmet took the blow and didn't complain and my feet remained steady. 500 feet to go. Then a stinging jab on the forearm, which tingled unpleasently before going numb. Hmmmmm. Well, just keep going, good feet, good axe placement. I was annoyed that there was nowhere to hide, even the slight walls to either side seemed to be getting hit and shedding their own projectiles.
Wack! the big baseball hit my right calf as I zigzagged up towards the gap. now that hurt! Wavered for a second. Maybe I should think a bit more about this...I reached a point where most of my body was sheltered from the worst of the rain, clipped into my tool and took a long look upwards, surveying the barrage. Man, I can be up there in 20 minutes! I’ll drink some Gatorade, eat a snickers, then do my best Saving Private Ryan hero charge...shit, I’m bulletproof, with any luck most everything will miss and I can laugh my ass off up by the Queen's Chair. Off I went, and all of 15 feet from where I’d had that lovely conversation with myself the big one nailed me.
I didn't see it. I was trying to dodge across the narrowest portion of the route, about 40 feet from my previous refuge. Runnels marked the whole way, some 2 feet deep. I heard it though…after it hit me. WHAM! My first thought was terror. My whole left leg buzzed crazily, my femur felt snapped like a dry twig. What if I couldn't put any weight on it? Suddenly I felt glad I hadn't bothered to see old Joe Simpson's grim tale put to awful celluloid reality. Whatever it was that had my name on it had cratered into my thigh, just inches from the knee-cap. The impact hammered the bone just as my leg was planted, and I swayed momentarily as it throbbed and ringed. Still exposed, I lurched insanely across the last runnel and ducked as best as I could under a overhang of frost feathers, watching the incessant pattern of mortar rounds all across the divide. The time had come I though, for a drastic reappraisal of the whole goddamn situation. Across the way the summits of Adams and Rainier disappeared beneath a grey carpet. Touching the big thigh muscle I could detect immediate swelling, and good old fashioned pain was plentiful, but there was none of the shooting, awful pain that I knew would mean the skeleton below was mortally injured. I took an experimental step uphill, then knew I had no choice. I figured my pace had been halved at best, and the firing squad still appeared to be collecting checks. That last 400 feet looked miles away and all my confidence was gone, the consequences of fucking up very real now indeed. Going back down was against every willful thought in my mind: I could be hit just as easily in the back and that fucking trek across the sandy, up & over Yocum, then finally up to the wretched illumination gap on a busted leg with aching heels, all still exposed to endless shit plummeting off every cliff and crag along the way. But there was no choice, really, and as we all must do when turning around, I promised myself a beer and a smoke at the earliest possible convenience.
I found the pain manageable on the downhill. My light pack took several strong ice-strikes, but provided just enough cushion to keep me on my way. Even now I choose not to revisit the trek back to Illumination too much. It took 4 hours of limping and grunting, but eventually I was at Illumination gap. Towards the end of the Yocum traverse I noticed 3 folks w/ skiis traversing towards Luetholds. Still low down, one of them slipped, couldn't arrest and slid 100 feet out of sight. Nonplussed, I finished the last bit and emerged onto the Reid to see he was okay and reversing his misfortune. I didn't know if the rain of debris down Luetholds or the headwall was as bad as the Sandy and I didn't give a fuck. They could figure it out on their own and I was going home....I’d made a promise to myself after all, and I’m a man of my word.
3 folks were at the gap basking in the noontime sun. 2 were in those fashionably red PMR jackets, and I asked if they knew the infamous Iain. Apparently he was off on a trip to the north side. I never had seen rob or pat on Yocums, much to my surprise. Seems like that would have been the best place to have been that day. Knew Jeff and some folks were going to be doing Luetholds too, but didn't see them up high and I was pretty certain that wasn't them in the falling crew. Made small talk for awhile and rested the leg. cursing is an essential part of the healing process. Bummed some sunscreen as I’d been neglectful. The mountains are at their most fantastic when it’s warm and sunny and you feel no need to hurry anywhere. After awhile the trio skied off. I had a much needed, and woefully belated, safety break, then finished the odyssey back to the Palmer, enjoying the cool breeze and the heady feeling of having gotten away w/ something. The mountain had taken a big swing at me, and I had reeled, but the piss and vinegar was still bubbling, and I would be back. To show my hearty indifference to the awesome power of nature, I spent the last 1000 feet downhill chatting w/ the wife on a cell-phone, feeling somehow not out of place as a screaming yuppie-asshole, surrounded as I was by diesel-reeking snowcats, McLitter, and the waifs of the ski-slopes. Down in the car I marveled at a violent, basketball sized, purple streaked bruise radiating from my knee to the back of my thigh and half way to my groin, with a raised angry white welt in the middle resembling a softball. Nice! It feels cool when I press on the center, like I’m alive. Also a great excuse for not doing shit around the house all Sunday except typing a bunch of crap that no one could care less about.
In the final analysis of a much overdone TR, I’d say the Sandy is a fine outing for those wanting to do a lot of walking, but not much fun when the mountain is shedding. For my 2 cents, I think the Reid headwall delivers the most bang for the buck on that side of the hill, with the north face route still being the most enjoyable route I’ve yet done.
