The past month in the PNW has had pretty strange weather. We’ve had high pressure, sunshine, cold temperatures—and no precipitation. Two weekends ago, we skied at Meadows on chopped-up granular, aka packed powder, aka ice. It’s fine for carving but not super fun hitting refrozen moguls. N and I skipped behind one of the warming huts before the trail was closed and hit one of our favorite steeps. It consisted of frozen bumps, and we ended up cutting across the slope to get back to the groomers.

Last Sunday, with no snow in the forecast, I pulled the plug on Saturday skiing and instead took the van up to Mt. Hood to go climbing. I planned to skin up the south side and poke around—if conditions were good, climb up through the Pearly Gates to the summit. I left Portland around 4:30 and stopped in Sandy to pick up a burrito for dinner. The road up to Timberline was graveled and dry. When I pulled into the camping spots and turned the van off, I was rocked back and forth with red Mt. Hood kitty litter flying through the air—gusts to maybe 30 or 40 mph. Realizing the skin up Palmer was going to be a sheet of wind-scoured ice, I decided to reassess my plans and maybe settle for an overnight on the mountain.

After a hasty retreat back down the road, I took a left and decided to make for White River Sno-Park. There is usually a small crowd of people van-camping in the huge parking lot. I parked, put up my window shades, kicked on the heater, and ate my Chippy’s burrito. With the downgrade to a 2 a.m. wake-up, I decided to sleep in and have a leisurely climb up into White River Canyon. Just after sunrise, I was awakened by chatter outside the van. I peeped out my window to see maybe 30 people assembling with skimo gear in a few different groups. I started making breakfast and opened my door to ask the people right next to me, “Are you all together?” It turns out it was the Mazamas Backcountry Ski group doing avalanche training.

I got my kit together, put my skins on, walked up to the trail, and started up the east side of the drainage. I went around Pea Gravel Hill through the trees to the left and then continued up the ridge. At treeline, I chatted with another solo skier who had tent-camped near treeline. I think the low was 18°F. I had the heater in the van set at 66°F.

We talked for a few minutes about routes. He was going to try to ascend the ridge up and left to the Salmon River drainage and Timberline Lodge. It sounded neat, but it’s a steep slope consisting of wind crust and refrozen, old snow. I was reminded of a mistake I made once in Smuggler’s Notch, Vermont, when my climbing partner and I hiked up to check out the ice routes just as the sun was going down. Once the sun left the aspect we were on, it turned to a sheet of ice, and we had no way to descend. He slid back down with an ice axe and retrieved my crampons so I could walk down. Steep slopes of ice are sketchy. A lot of the time, what’s easy to ascend—either in crampons or kicking steps—can be a nightmare to descend.

I opted to drop into the river drainage and climb Boy Scout Ridge proper. I switched to crampons and a whippet, put my skis on my pack, dropped down, and then climbed up. I continued up toward the White River Glacier for maybe a mile. I decided to transition and ski back out when I took off my mittens to put a windbreaker on, and they started to blow away across the ice. I was getting blown around with my skis on my pack. Time to call it.

The ski out was uneventful except for negotiating the braided streams of the White River, crossing snow bridges, and hoping I didn’t take a swim in the water. Beautiful day for a solo mission—just enough to whet my appetite for spring corn skiing.

Snow is in the forecast for the weekend, so we should be back to our regular weather pattern (snow on the mountain and rain in Portland).