[The Angry Hiker]

The Portuguese are known for being great explorers, but my ride to St. Helens couldn't find the right exit if he had precise directions printed out in triplicate and stapled to his forehead by Rand McNally himself. The sun was sinking behind the hills and this guy was circumnavigating Cowlitz County like Ferdinand Magellan in search of the Spice Islands. It was 7:00 pm before we finally rolled into the Lone Fir Resort in the town of Cougar to register and get our permits. They only allow 100 people on the mountain at time, and during the summer months you need to reserve your permit weeks in advance or hang around in the parking lot like a bum begging people for one. We hooked up with the leader of the expedition, "B-Dog"and his family at the resort as well, along with three others, making our party a total of 8 people and 0 poodles. We all proceeded to the front office where a gray-haired gentleman shouted at us for 10 minutes before handing us our permits, which we were to attach to our backpacks. Our ears still ringing, we drove from there to the Marble Mountain Sno Park, a quaint remnant of a simpler age when spelling "snow" without the "w" didn't necessarily mean you were a product of the Washington State educational system.

Apparently, you can't drive straight to the summit yet.

Jr., the youngest of the group and least likely to be eaten.

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After getting our gear together and loading up our packs, we stumbled around in the dark for an hour or so trying to find a decent place to camp. On our way, we passed another group coming down, and they gave us a brief summary of what to expect further up the trail. Unfortunately, I was way at the back of the line, so all I could make out was "blah blah blah DEATH DROP blah blah blah DEATH DROP!!!" Chilling words that would have sent any sane, rational man running to the comfort of a warm motel room back in Cougar. But B-Dog insisted that we press on and get as close to the mountain as possible so he could save himself a few measly footsteps in the morning.

Why camp down where it's dry when there's plenty of snow to freeze your balls on just 2 miles up the trail?

The trail was muddy and patchy with snow, and there was a small downed tree or two, but it was otherwise smooth sailing all the way to the waterfall where would camp for the weekend. B-dog boiled water for the powdered concoctions that we jokingly referred to as our "dinner", while my Portuguese chauffeur went overboard with his camera and earned himself the moniker "Jimmy Olsen" for the remainder of the outing. I set up my frequently and unfairly mocked Wal-Mart dome tent, which would be our home for the duration. A quick review of REI's so-called "Self-Inflating Sleeping Pad ($69.95)". "Self-inflating" implies that you simply pull a cord and the pad fills up with air like a life-raft, right? But when you read the fine print, you are instructed to open the valve and let a little "puff" of air rush in. Then you're supposed to blow into the tube to complete the inflation. So in effect, the pad is "self-inflating" because you'll be doing all the inflating yourself. Thanks REI!

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Already drunk on Irish whisky

My home for the duration

Ease up a little, will ya?

After we ate, B-dog confiscated the remainder of our food and hung it from a tree. "You don't wanna to keep that stuff in your pack," he warned us. "Bears, raccoons, marmots, wolverines, and poodles will chew right through your cheap Wal-Mart tent to get it." Yeah, those bears really go for dehydrated huevos rancheros. There were some lightning storms brewing in the distance, but we all hit the sack under a clear, starry sky around midnight - only to be awakened a few hours later by tour groups full of geezers coming up the trail and milling around the waterfall, where they had loud discussions about their various aches and pains or things they've had surgically removed from their bodies. Don't mind us, folks! We were just sleeping over here. Personally, I'd much rather listen to grampa complain about his infected goiters than rest up for the hike. After a quick breakfast, we purified some water and got our first glimpse of the mountain. Although the volcano was enshrouded in mist, B-Dog assured us that "The summit is just right over that rise there!" I didn't have the heart to tell him that the summit blew off in 1980, and was now scattered across hundreds of miles.

Waterfall at camp

That's about the last we saw of the sun, too.

Breakfast before the big hike

Purifying water

Amazingly, no one got the runs.

The trail starts out easy enough, traversing a long, meandering formation of igneous rock and wildflowers that winds its way up the mountain like a snake. While the rest of the gang ascended the adjacent snow-filled gullies, I stuck to the "worm flows" where there was less chance of post-holing or being blindsided by a glissading moron. I made pretty good time, too, until the rocks gave way to loose ash and sand that was almost impossible to make any progress on. I was then forced to take my chances with postholes and join the rest of the losers down on the snow.

The hike begins

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If you ever see this guy on a trail and happen to ask him how far it is to the summit, multiply his answer by 5.

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Up the Worm Flows

At about 5000 feet, the clouds parted for a moment to give us our first and only glimpse of the valley below. From then on, it was fog, rain, sleet, and zero visibility. However, B-Dog assured us that the summit was "just over that rise there".

Ready for a break

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Storm? Nah, the sun's coming out!

Let's Go

Resisted the urge to shake it and freak everyone out back home.

Col. Kurtz

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For me, next 2000 feet were the most challenging. I was having difficulty breathing and was gulping for air like a fish out of water. My head felt like it was about to split wide open, and I was seeing bright flashes of light. I was also suffering serious chest pains, severe disorientation, muscle spasms, bleeding from the pores, problem flatulence, painful urination, and a swollen elbow. "Well, if you start feeling nauseous," a concerned Jimmy Olsen advised me, "Drink lots of water!" Alas, I feared I had reached my physical limit. At 7000 feet, I was the highest I had been since college. I broke the news to B-dog and the gang that I could go no further. When the laughter had subsided, B-dog threw my pack at me and ordered me to "get my ass moving". "Everyone makes it to the top!" he growled. "Besides, the summit is just over that rise there!"

Glissading Morons

Time for another smoke

Running out of snow

Idiots in the Mist! Wait, that's us. Never mind.

This is my "Screw This!" point, at about 7000 feet.

I looked up, but all I could see was total whiteness. While we were flapping our gums and gnawing on Clif bars, a freak storm had blown in and covered the whole mountain in a swirling cloud of snow and sleet. My instincts told me to turn around - but I decided to press on anyway, if only so the rest of the group would have to lug my frozen corpse back down the mountain with them. A steep stretch of rocks and ash gave way to an even steeper snowy traverse, and some people stopped here to strap on their crampons. In my professional opinion, crampons weren't at all necessary - which was lucky for me because I forgot to bring them. Instead, I preferred to find a sucker who would kick out some boot-steps for me to climb up on. After a mile or so of following B-Dog up the slope, the storm was getting worse and visibility was so bad that I couldn't even see Jimmy Olsen's Marlboro beacon up the trail. But B-Dog was optimistic, promising us that he could spy the crater rim, and that the summit was "just over that rise there". We passed a couple of deep crevices in this area (or crevasses, if you want people to think you're a serious climber), so be careful. The slope is also pretty icy in spots so keep your ice axe handy for a quick self-arrest. The snow eventually gives way to ash, which B-Dog later described as like "walking on a beach at a 45 degree angle". A hundred feet or so later we were on the summit and freezing our our asses off. It was too cold to linger and enjoy the breathtaking view, so we hastily collected some illegal souvenirs and split. Half the party went on ahead and vanished into the storm, leaving the rest of us to mercy of B-Dog's sketchy route-finding skills.

3 degrees and dropping.

"The Sun's coming out!"

A beautiful view of the crater. Well worth the climb.

That's Rainier in the background.

Two cigarettes left.

These folks actually got lost and had to spend the night on the mountain (around 3200 ft) under space blankets. Search & rescue brought them down the next morning.

"Oh, by the way, we need to have a serious discussion here, people," B-dog informed us. "It's 6:30 pm. We're in white-out conditions, and it's getting dark. We need to get DOWN off this mountain NOW!" Yes, it would've been easy to just push him off into the abyss, but the truth is we needed him to guide us out of the storm. The visibility was so bad that we couldn't see 20 feet ahead of us, even with the trail of cigarette butts Jimmy Olsen left behind all the way up the mountain. B-Dog was the only one who could find the way back to camp, and we all knew it. We'd let him take us down to safety, and then we'd beat the stuffing out of him. With the crevices lurking somewhere in the mist, we couldn't start glissading right away. So we decided to plunge-step the first 1000 feet down. Once he was confident we wouldn't slide off a cliff or into some rocks, B-Dog picked out a chute and gave us a quick lesson on the art of glissading. The object of glissading is to purposely send yourself sliding down a steep, icy slope - the exact opposite of what I'd been trying to avoid the whole climb up. But we were able to descend about 3000 feet in a fraction of the time it would've taken on foot. The snow eventually petered out and we had to climb down the rest of the way on the worm flows, but by then we were below the clouds and out of the woods, so to speak. We stumbled back into camp around midnight again, and chose to stay another night rather than head back to the parking lot as planned.

and more powdered crap for dinner.

Jimmy Olsen getting ready for an ephedrine night cap. Suprisingly, he slept like a baby...a baby Georgia razorback kick-starting a Harley at 2 am.

B-dog felt bad about his episode of "summit fever" and nearly getting us all killed just so he could have a few passing moments of glory...but he brought booze, so all was forgiven. The next morning, we slept in until it stopped raining, then packed it up and hiked the easy 2 miles back to our cars. It was an amazing time had by all and an adventure we'll never forget, no matter how hard we try.

The ambulances were not for us.

And not a single poodle on the whole trip.

The little rat came out of nowhere and made a beeline for my backpack.

%$#@#&*!!!!!

[More Cowbell]

I didn't think you could top your last trip report A.H. but I was wrong. You are setting a new standard of excellence on this forum. Keep them coming.

[Rigafari]

Great report!!

[Go Jo]

AWESOMELY ENTERTAINING, enough said ~ thanks, Jo

[Magellan]

Ditto on More Cowbell! That was the funniest thing I've read in a while!

[northbynorthwest]

You made me laugh...thanks! Great TR.

[kleet]

If we lived in California, Angry Hiker, I'd make you my wife. Please get your group together and give Rainier a shot next.

[ree]

That was a hilarious tr!

[Grizzy]

[The Angry Hiker]

[swbkrun]

TOO DANG FUNNY!

[ActionBetty]

I want to go hiking with you guys.. you sound fun

[dean brittain]

I can't wait to read the next adventure you have!! Awesome!

[bobbi]

your member name needs to be changed to the funny hiker your TR is hilarious! i was on st. helens in a similar situation and applied your humor to my recollection of my ascent/descent. thanks for sharing your adventure!

[Karen]

Your trail reports and photo captions are so funny - I laugh so hard that I don't need to see a therapist anymore. Karen