Even though I was born and raised in Portland, I have not always longed to scale our iconic Mount Hood—or Wy’East as it was known long before being renamed after a British admiral.
Whereas when my Mom saw it—one of the first mountains she had ever seen and the highest mountain in Oregon at 11,240 feet—she declared: “I’m going to climb that.” That is according to the family lore, long before I was born, as I romantically recall.
And she did, along with my Dad, over and over and over again. They summited Mt. Hood 15 times, give or take a few attempts, along with the other 15 major peaks in the Pacific Northwest as part of the Mazamas, the oldest mountaineering club in the U.S.
So, when I was a little girl and family friends came over for dinner, we often ended up in the basement watching slideshows of my parents’ “peak bagging” heydays as 23- and 25-year-old newlyweds transplanted from the East to West Coast circa 1972. I liked the pictures with the view from the top the best. All the slides of endless hiking and climbing up were a bit boring, which is also how I felt about hiking in real life at that age. We frequently played hide-and-go-seek in the “equipment room,” huddled behind ice axes, ropes and backpacks.
I couldn’t grasp any of it. How difficult it was, what discipline it took, how much of a commitment, why it was such an accomplishment.
Not just standing on the top, but every step to get there. And safely home.
Later on, I watched as my brother returned home from college on the East coast and spent his mid-20s rock climbing and mountaineering just like our parents had. His Eagle Scout skills, along with the slide shows and first-generation gear from Patagonia and REI, got dusted off as he racketed up his own set of attempts and summits.
Most often drawn by the pull of the ocean’s tides, I spent my own mid-20s having my own adventures to Italy, France, Spain, Dominican Republic, Costa Rica, Mexico. Drawn far from home in search of myself.
Near the end of my 20s when my Dad bought part of a cabin near Mt. Hood—finally fulfilling one of my parent’s dreams—I started spending a lot more time close to home and outdoors again. Every time I drove down that gravel road, over the canal and around the bend, Mt. Hood was waiting there—gigantic, stunning, mysterious.
Each time it caught me a little off guard. As if I had never seen a mountain before.
Then in 2014, I tagged along on a lady’s backpacking trip up and down Lookout Mountain, about 8 miles east-southeast of Mount Hood and the second highest peak in Oregon’s Mount Hood National Forest at 6,536 feet (which is still only half of Hood). I got too many bug bites to count. We were awake all night from the howling winds and everything covered in dust by morning. Instead of two nights, we drove home the next day. Far from never again, I was hooked.
Sure some of it sucked. But, nature, community, connection, fun, challenges. And the adventure.
It was in my blood.
Had the mountain been waiting for me to come to it all this time?
“Destiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for; it is a thing to be achieved,” said William Jennings Bryan.
That one trip in 2014, a few in 2015, several in 2016, and many more in 2017 culminated in completing the 45-mile Timberline Trail around Mt. Hood in Aug. 2017. After four days on the mountain and making it up to 7,300 feet: What was next?
I knew: “I’m going to climb that.”
That next summer of 2018 I was out of commission due to a bike accident, but the dream persisted. Then, I missed the entire backpacking season the next summer of 2019 while I was running the Nike Internship Program. I was not waiting another year.
As soon as the summer was over I immediately started training so I could apply to the Mazamas Basic Climbing Education Program (BCEP). The very same program that my parents taught in the 1970s. Back then there were only one thousand or so climbers in the entire U.S. In 2020, there were 300 applicants. Luckily, I was accepted!
The first and last class was March 9, 2020.
The world was officially in a global pandemic.
I was waiting another year.
Waiting to climb, but not to train, hence #HoodorBust. I found as much elevation as I could last spring while everything was closed, then found socially distant ways to adventure all summer including 12 or so trips culminating in another Timberline Trail completion (in 3 days this time, instead of 4!). Instead of taking the fall and winter off per usual, I kept hiking on trails with fewer people and more solitude.
I reapplied and I was accepted. Eyes on the prize.
Last week, I met my 2021 team at our first weekly skills session on Wednesday, followed by an all-day conditioning trek in the Columbia River Gorge on Saturday, then a three-hour indoor rock climbing training on Sunday morning.
I’m starting to grasp it—the difficulty, the discipline, the commitment.
Why it is such an accomplishment.
Not just to summit, but to go to destiny.
May you take a step toward destiny this week.
Love,
Jules
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