Race Camp at Mt Hood, The Mountain Experience

By Mike Peters

Early Winter 2003

As the miles sweep by, the near perfect cone of a snow-capped Mt. Hood slowly comes into view. Becoming larger as you approach, it appears to float above the landscape. Suddenly, the mountain disappears and you are surrounded by forested hills,

At Government Camp, you turn, climbing up switchbacks and long curves, with brief glimpses of spectacular views and blinding sun. Suddenly, you are in the parking lot, staring at one of nature’s most inspiring sites. The snowfield seems miles away, the lifts barely visible. Intently focusing, you notice small dark specks moving down the slopes. Turning slowly around, the grandeur of Oregon is revealed with sparkling lakes, snow covered peaks, endless forests, a shrouded glimpse of coastal cities, and the faint blue cast of the Pacific.

With the heat radiating off the asphalt, you immediately think of dressing light. Then a cooling breeze whips by, suggesting you pack an extra shirt. Cramming water, sunscreen, snacks, and extra everything into a pack far to small, you trek up the parking lot, immediately breaking into a sweat.

Walking past the Timberline and WyEast lodges (another story), you follow an asphalt path that passes through a canopy of trees, the air considerably cooler. You nearly miss seeing the lift hidden in the shadows, quietly waiting for winter.

Leaning your skis against the side of a building that is already radiating heat, you fumble through your clothes, trying to remember where you put your wallet. This is not the usual winter routine and you think I better get this down by tomorrow.

With ticket attached, skis and poles on your shoulder, and pack on your back, you confidently walk a few feet into the cool darkness of the loading shack. Your eyes adjust. You are abruptly stopped by the thought that you have to get on a moving lift without losing everything you are carrying. You stall by stopping and adjusting anything, watching as others load first. You realize it’s all a matter of coordination and timing. No sweat!

Walking the few steps to the loading line, you turn slightly, align your skis, and sit down as if you had been doing this hundreds of times. Without warning, you are rocketed up and the chair kicks backwards. The fun begins as skis and poles slide forward and your backpack is pushing you off the seat. One handed, you grab at your skis and the side of the chair. The panic passes as the chair levels out and you shift everything so it at least stays put! (Of course, by the time you touch down at the top, you are numb in a dozen places since you were too afraid to move.)

Riding up through cool breezes just skimming the trees, you take in a panoramic view. The mountain is overwhelmingly huge, the summit just a stone’s throw away. To the east and west, slopes blend into a bright blue sky.

The terrain changes abruptly. Huge brown boulders and rocky ground replace the foliage. The land is void of most plant life, reminiscent of the moon’s landscape. The sun is blinding and the temperature is suddenly warmer.

Loading the second chair is more familiar, sidestepping up a long snowy ramp with skis on. Entering semi-darkness, you glance around noticing all the paraphernalia of a lift shack. Just as you load, you spot a plaque. The Palmer lift is named after an 1870’s explorer.

At the top, you enter another dark building. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you realize the chair has slowed and you are sliding on a path of snow just barely wide enough for 4 people! Suddenly you are blinded by snow and sun. You stop to get your bearings (and not ski off the track) and are greeted by a view even more spectacular than below. The air is fresh, clear, and cool. Your one thought, life is good, passes too quickly as you weave through the multitude of skiers that somehow all fit on this path of snow, etched out of the slope.

A white board passes by. You are looking for lane 14.

Traversing down the ridge is almost overwhelming as you pass the barely comprehensible chatter of radios, groups of racers talking all at once, flags waving, randomly set poles everywhere, piles of gear scattered against the snow bank. With no lane numbers, you look for familiar faces. Slowing to a snowplow, you see a group below. Rolling off the edge, you weave your way down through black, heat-soaked rocks.

Then familiar faces appear: Nelson, Chris, Marty. You had decided well in advance you wanted a slower group, but a friendly wave from Ed and Scott (both having attended camp over 13 consecutive years) qualifies you for Jeff’s team of skiers.

Your apprehension about skiing for the first time in months is forgotten as Jeff (mercifully?) takes you through slow warm-up drills over salt-hardened snow. The shyness of the first few runs is quickly forgotten, as you find your zone. You ski faster and with more confidence with each run. The lift rides are many, punctuated by the chatter of racers in line. Your vertical feet skied increases. Gates are becoming a blur as skills improve. The days pass too quickly. You are having the time of your life.

By the end of the third day, you are sore and tired but smiling big. The last run is taken as slowly as possible just to make it last. The end of the snow, marked by a STOP sign, prompts you for the dusty journey to the parking lot. Stepping over small creeks and rock-strewn paths, your sore chins and aching shoulders are forgotten as staring tourists greet you.

At your car, you peel off sticky clothes (and let those socks air out). Then you take a moment, turning slowly in a circle to anchor the view into memory. Your last sight of this majestic mountain is in your rear view mirror.

The Final Evaluation: summer skiing at Mt. Hood will definitely inspire your passion for the mountain experience.