I had originally intended on skiing down the mountain from 9000 feet. My friend John Miksits, whom we had lost on Mt. Shasta, had greatly inspired me to ski in the mountains. If I couldn't ski with my friend on Mt. Shasta, I really wanted to ski down Mt. Hood in memory of him. However, the fall I took on the Palmer the day before had left my back and particularly my left leg an ugly mess of bruised tendons and had reduced my confidence in my skiing to near bumbly level. In order to ski down the mountain safely I knew I would need to be in my alpine touring boots, which are a sort of hybrid between alpine ski boots and mountaineering boots, but are in truth far more suited to skiing. Further, they're not exactly the most comfortable things to climb in, and I really didn't want to exacerbate my already sore and swollen left ankle and knee. So I made the decision, cheifly because I didn't want to slow Brett or Jeff H. down on the climb or fall and injure myself or my partners, to leave the skis down at the Lodge and simply climb the mountain in regular boots and walk back down. I know that John would have liked to have heard that I'd skied down Mt. Hood, but I also know that he'd never want anyone to get hurt, and the latter looked possible if I tried to plank it. Brett elected to boot down with me, mostly to keep me company (I protested but he insisted). Jeff H. decided to go ahead and ski down from the top of the Palmer and carried his skis and tele boots up, but climbed in mountaineering boots. Lotta weight, but the kid wanted to ski.

So we left the Lodge at about 12.15am. I was in a bit of a funk. It occurred to me just before we got onto the route that I hadn't done a climb simply to climb in a couple of months. I was thinking a lot about John as we started up the route.

Brett led Jeff H. and I up the simple snowfield, which in truth is a heck of a slog. Other than just head-down booting up the slope, we didn't say or do much. The night was perfectly clear, with a full moon. It was possible to climb without a headlamp, which we did for most of the climb, and there was a warm wind in the air (which turned colder the higher we climbed). We heard one immense rockfall crash from Steel Cliff onto the White River Glacier on our way up the route. The rock cracked onto the glacier and we could hear it rolling cacaphonously down valley for long seconds after the initial impact. It very quickly reminded me that even though Mt. Hood is not a difficult climb by the standard route, it is still a potentially dangerous one (rock and icefall are the major hazards, along with crossing the bergschrund). We reached the Hogsback at around 4.30am, I'd guess, and were presented with the scene above.