Intro by Lou, story in captions by Caleb:
Some mountains are like a comfy pair of worn-in shoes. They seem to slip around you in a warm hug, almost as if the very fabric of the peak has been molded for your body the way a good pair of insoles molds to your feet.
In past years, Mount Hood has been one such comfy place for me. I’ve hit the rime caked volcano a number of times in consistently good weather, and made sure to ensconce myself in the Timberline Lodge after and even before each ascent our tour. Indeed, my wife and I even spent our honeymoon there. We skied corn in t-shirts, hung out at the swimming pool like Greek shipping magnates on the Med, and scourged the Cascade Dining Room desert cart like barbarians sacking Rome.
For the WildSnow road crew, such coddling was not to be. We headed up from Shasta with our eyes glued to our computer screens, watching a huge cyclonic rotate in off the Pacific. It appeared we could get a window in the morning, before the first arm of the storm slapped Hood like a major league batter swatting practice shots. Yep, the window opened for a moment, then slammed shut. Good Denali practice? You bet. Fun? Yes. A summit? Dang.