For what is a man?
What has he got?
If not himself,
Then he has naught
My skis glide as the rhythmic crunch of them fills the cool morning air around me. It's not as cold as I had hoped for and the rat in my brain is already gnawing away filled with doubt and the daily noise inside of my head. The approach is always the hardest part for me. Anticipation becomes a highway for questions I don't have answers for. I am hoping for the stillness I only seem to find in the mountains on my own. As I approach the top of the cat track the skiing quickly becomes more of a cumbersome attempt then boot packing. I pass a group who must have started very early to be up this high, from here on it's just me.
Mount Hood is the litmus test for what my spring/summer season may look like here. I haven't climbed a true mountain line since I was in New Zealand, and a winter of rehabbing brain and shoulder injuries has left me filled with more doubt, overall lacking a sense of self and identity. The day before I had skinned up to the crater to watch the Devil's kitchen headwall. I want to hear what the wall has to say, and follow its instructions to enjoy a tango with the ice and precarious rime that at times seems to break rules of science with how it's stuck to the volcanic rock below. Initially the easier variation one was my plan but it seems to be fairly active this year and all signs point to the more vertical and committing runnels. Less debris lie below them. The rime packed snow tells me no good in bringing the splitboard higher. I transition and put on my harness. My pack feels empty. One long screw, One medium, a v-thread tool, 30m of rad line, my tools, a connect adjust, and rappel kit. Just enough to get down. I drink some water and the rat is screaming at this point.
What the fuck are you doing here you junky? Are you even fit enough? You can't even see the upper part of the route! You haven't even been able to get into the mountains in months and this is your first "logical" route?! Someone's gonna scrape you out of the crater! What if the rimes rotten up high?
As I put my crampons on it feels like for the first time in the oppressive imposing noise of my rat and the world fades away. No thoughts fill my head, true presence, I can hear the subtle squeaks of my tools as I carefully hook the first few moves entering the vertical and near vertical sections of my chosen line. I feel like a feather as I hike my feet up balancing between the rime to find the next concavity in the sliver of exposed ice to slip my tool in. There is only self and the line here. Simplicity of decisions for the now. The headwalls twists and turns through corridors of overhanging rime seem to point me in the direction of fluidity. I top out a sustained step and take a second to kick out a stance. I feel the air below me. sheltered in what feels like the heart of the mountain there is no wind, no sun, no noise. The dance of upward movement continues. In what feels like no time I pull over the lip of the ridge after some tunneling and exposed climbing. The warm morning sun kisses my face and warms my hands and feet. I kick out a small perch and take a seat to take it all in. The other aspect of the mountain has a windswept transitional snow pack that will become a slog to reach my line of descent. I'm getting ahead of myself I think. In this moment there is peace. Stillness and solitude no longer feel isolating. The rat lies in peace basking in the early morning rays content with its perch at 11,000'. I have not felt this stillness in what feels like over a year. A bond feels tied between me and the headwall. Their arms were stretched out to me welcoming me to dance through its secretive hidden passages. They accepted my ethics around this attempt with open arms.
The summit ridge ends up being more of a quest than the actual climbing of the route, 6"-8" of wind slab sit on top of the crust I want for my security on the steep slopes. A cycle of 10 moves, then kick out a stance and rest begins. I continue the traverse until the bubble I had so enjoyed is popped by the daily traffic of old man chute and pearly gates. I congratulate a few people who have just climbed Hood for the first time and continue down on my descent to get back to my board and zip out of there. Just under 6 hours car to car. I lay out my kit to dry out and roll a cigarette to bask in the warm rays of the day. I hope to continue to find the simplicity I found today. The noise of the world met me again later that day as I drove back to Bend.
The summit ridge ends up being more of a quest than the actual climbing of the route, 6"-8" of wind slab sit on top of the crust I want for my security on the steep slopes. A cycle of 10 moves, then kick out a stance and rest begins. I continue the traverse until the bubble I had so enjoyed is popped by the daily traffic of old man chute and pearly gates. I congratulate a few people who have just climbed Hood for the first time and continue down on my descent to get back to my board and zip out of there. Just under 6 hours car to car. I lay out my kit to dry out and roll a cigarette to bask in the warm rays of the day. I hope to continue to find the simplicity I found today. The noise of the world met me again later that day as I drove back to Bend.
Wherever I go.
There I am.
There I am.
