Weekend Photos: Timberline Trail, Mt. Hood

It's the weekend, and time for more eye candy! Back at the very end of August I joined my brother-in-law and his nephew in a 4-night, 5-day backpack on the Timberline Trail around Mt. Hood in Oregon. At about 42 miles, with around 10,000' of up and down (if you think a trail that draws a circle around a mountain stays at the same elevation, think again!), we chose to take our time. We met a startling number of people with a different approach: trail runners doing the whole thing in one day. I admire them and envy them, but my days of imagining I can emulate them are definitely over.

Since we started with a four-hour drive down from Seattle, we didn't hit the trail until 2 p.m. the first day. That meant hiking until dinner time to get to a particularly scenic campsite in Paradise Park.

The first photo is by my brother-in-law, photographer Tom Dempsey, whose amazing work can be found at Photoseek.com. At the risk of making you lose all interest in my post, his take on the trip is here.

Tom's photo of Ian and the author in front of the Timberline Lodge at Mt. Hood. Packs are hoisted and we are ready to go!

Starting at Timberline Lodge on the south side of the mountain, we proceeded clockwise, heading west towards Paradise Park. Mt. Hood leaves you in no doubt that it is volcanic, nor that glaciers covered much more of it until recently. For a good take on the geology of the mountain and the hike, see this post at Landscapes Revealed.

ZigZag Canyon, the first of many deep gashes in the mountain which forced us to drop steeply and climb equally painfully back out.

Looking south down the Cascade Range to Mt. Jefferson, the next volcano in the line-up.

Paradise Park lived up to its name, with open fields, or "parks" of wildflowers with clumps of trees and views of the volcano.

We camped, per Leave No Trace principals, not in the meadows, but in a well-used area of bare rock and dirt, with even more spectacular views. By this time, our outlook is more to the west than the south, which made for a great sunset.

The setting sun blessed us with some amazing light for photography. Petey Possum, as usual, came along for the ride and enjoyed the good weather.

Three hikers, three tents. Mine is the most distant.

The next morning we woke to the only bad weather of the trip, a dreary drizzle that led us to delay breaking camp until after 9 a.m. A long day's hike ahead finally forced us to accept that it wasn't going to stop quite on the schedule put out by the forecasters, and we headed out carrying wet tents and wearing our rain gear.

The Sandy River forces the trail to its lowest point. Here, we have arrived at the edge of the deep gash in the mountainside, and were just able to catch glimpses of the waterfalls on the Paradise Branch, which flows into the Sandy.

From Paradise Park to the crossing of the Sandy River the trail drops about 2800'. By the time we got to the bottom and the river crossing, the sun had come out, and was there to stay. When the crew from Landscapes Revealed (see above) did the hike in July (of a different year), the river crossings were tricky. By waiting until late August, we avoided water drama. At every river, I was able to wander around until I found where other hikers before me had placed logs to make for easy dry-foot crossings. I'm no fan of precarious rock-hops over water; I've ruined more than one camera that way.

Looking up the Sandy River to the west face of Mt. Hood.

After lunch, and despite the projected length of our hike, we detoured a little way to visit Ramona Falls, which proved well worth a few (a lot of) extra steps.

Ramona Falls, tumbling down a wall of columnar basalt.

Nearby, the rock has broken off, revealing smooth and colorful surfaces.

The clouds didn't completely clear, but the day remained pleasant as we climbed back up to find a camp near a stream. This one lacked views, but allowed us to get set up and dried out (and fed) before bedtime, which at that point was about all we were interested in--after 12 miles and 3000' of climbing (and even more descending).

Climbing the final ridge. We just needed water and a flat place so we could stop hiking and lie down.

The next morning, all signs of bad weather were gone, and we soon walked back into the views.

Coming around to the northwest side of the mountain, probably after crossing Glisan Creek.

 
Although the volcanic soils and glacial disruptions largely define the look of the mountain, it was interesting to watch the changes in the landscape as we worked our way around. The south and west sides are clearly the wettest, and as we shifted to north and later to east, things got drier.

In addition to those changes in the flora, the viewscape obviously changed as we went. On the 3rd day, we found ourselves with views of Mt. Adams (right, above) and Mt. Rainier (distant horizon), as well as the somewhat more truncated Mt. St. Helens (not shown). At times we could admire all three at once, over the top of an extensive burn area.

Despite the burn, or in fact in part because of it, we saw a lot of wildflowers that day, if mostly concentrated in the stream cuts.

Lupine and paintbrush dominated the riparian areas, while fireweed (as you might expect) was a presence in the burned areas.

Every creek running from every glacier has cut a gully, large or small. We continued finding the easy way across, and being glad we weren't doing it early in the season when snowmelt swells all the streams, making crossings sketchy at best.

Late in the day, after spotting the Cloud Cap Inn (historical, not operating) from across the gully, we had to drop hundreds of feet to cross the Elliot Branch. This creek, flowing off the Elliot Glacier, was probably the only one that would have given me serious pause if it had been necessary to ford it, begin cold, fast, and a bit larger than I like to enter.

After a tricky scramble down the embankment, a nearly vertical cut in the glacial debris where we were much assisted by a fixed rope, we found the "bridge" and were able to cross the creek and begin the weary climb up the other side to camp.

When we reached the campground at Cloud Cap Saddle, it was ostensibly full, but another hiker kindly shared her site with us, saving us from hiking on another mile in search of water and a camp. This allowed us to enjoy the spectacular setting of the Cloud Cap Inn. We were happy to stop, after better than 9 miles.

The Cloud Cap Inn was built in 1889. It's easy to imagine men in suits and women in long dresses climbing wearily down from wagons and enjoying the scenery and presumably comfortable lodgings. Since the 1940s, the Forest Service has owned the inn, and since the 1950s, the Crag Rats, a venerable S&R group, has maintained it and uses it as a base for search-&-rescue operations on the mountain. It is not open to the public, but hikers can enjoy the views from all sides.

The next morning, Tom and I were up before daylight, knowing this was our best chance at good sunrise photos. It was cold and extremely windy, especially up on the knob where the inn sits, but we toughed it out and were well repaid.

Sun touching the eastern horizon.

The golden light on Mt. Hood's north side, highlighting the Elliot Glacier.

Once the photo frenzy was done, we ate breakfast, broke camp, and headed on. A good climb, in and out of the wind, brought us via a short detour to the Cooper Spur shelter, a stone hut meant for climbers in need.

On the right side of the hut you can just make out the guy wires helping to hold the roof on in mountain gales.

As we shifted more to the east side of the mountain, a combination of the rain shadow of the peak and the trail's running up to its highest point had us hiking through a landscape barren of plants larger than a few inches. As a happy desert rat and visitor to the alpine, I enjoy these landscapes that some might call bleak.

Tom on the trail, with Mt. Adams behind him.

By the time we'd dropped from the high point at Lamberson Spur and begun descending the whimsically-named Gnarl Ridge, we were once again looking south to Mt. Jefferson, though we were still in the sparser vegetation of the rain shadow.

Mostly hidden behind a tree in this shot, we also were able to just make out the next volcano south beyond Jefferson--the Three Sisters.

Wind-carved krumholtz on Gnarl Ridge. We dropped a bit off the ridge before trying to stop for lunch.

Looking back up Gnarl Ridge and the deep Newton Creek Canyon.

Ian on the dry-foot crossing of Newton Creek.

Today's hike was meant to put us close enough to the end of the trip to allow time for our drive back to Seattle, so we pushed on beyond the obvious camps at Newton Creek (another deep gash at the base of Gnarl Ridge), and climbed up into Heather Canyon, where Clark Creek also drains the Newton Clark Glacier.

We ended up using some established sites in the Clark Creek creekbed. Petey is keeping an eye on the mountain, but we felt reasonably confident there would be no massive floods to wash us out.

 

Just before bed on this final night (following a mere 8 mile day), I spotted a lone mountain goat making its way along the ridge above our camp. Light was too poor for photography, but I'm always happy to see them.

In the morning, we had really one main goal: get to the car in time to have burgers for lunch! We didn't ignore the scenery, though.

Upper Heather Canyon Falls was a treat rewarding the initial climb out of the creek.

We spent a chunk of the morning walking through the Mt. Hood Meadows Ski Area, but the open ski runs provided good views of the mountains, and as we were moving back around to the south side of the mountain, more ample rainfall meant we were back to meadows of wildflowers trying to wring everything they can from summer.

 

 Of course, no day would be complete without a long drop and climb into and out of a river valley. The White River had made the most impressive gash in the mountain's slopes, but was braided enough that we were still able to find dry-foot crossings.

Up the White River to the mountain. The loss of glacial ice on the south side of the mountain is of course the greatest, and has left things looking bare and scarred.

 

 From our crossing at 4800', we had only to climb to 6000' to find our car ready and waiting.

The creek is small right now, but imagine the forces that carved out that valley.

Burgers, fries, and salad, here we come!

I'm heading back out to do one last hike for the season, but watch this space for photos of fall in British Columbia and Alberta!

 

 ©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2024
 As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated. 


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