AK 239: The Enemy Is Already Here

Again, I had to snap myself back to reality. I know that on Mt. Hood, storms can come out of nowhere, especially in winter. You are so high that, during the day, the weather looks sunny and fine, like in an airplane. Unless you’re experienced, however, you may not notice the difference between fog in the valleys below and a storm pushing quickly up the mountain. When a storm system is pushed into the side of the Cascade mountain range the sun can disappear in an instant and a zero visibility blizzard can come out of nowhere.

But city slickers in their, just purchased, state of the art, flashy clothing, and cell phones could never totally be deterred, despite all the warnings. These were the people that didn’t know squat about mountaineering but, rather, were here for their latest Facebook selfie. But hey, to each his own!

During the day, the upper Palmer Chairlift would carry skiers to 8,397 feet. U.S. Olympic ski teams would train on Mt. Hood, sometimes all summer long. In fact, Hood is the only mountain in North America where you can generally ski all summer!

But this is the dead of winter. As I walked near the last tower I heard the frozen cables on the lift start. The icy cold, braded steel grumbled like an old man trying to get out of bed.

I sure hope they don’t start allowing faux mountain climbers to use the chair lifts now, I sarcastically mumbled to myself.

I remember thinking: These idiots will probably get hit on the head by a rock or an icefall.

Even a small rock sized chunk of ice can slice skin, brake bones or knock you unconscious. In which case:

They’ll be seeing Jesus before they see the top!

Most came up the South side, as it’s the easiest of the fifteen ways to the top. Even in December rocks are always a major concern. The Old Chute is the last leg but the easiest way to ascend the top. But even this route is a forty-five-degree climb and nearly vertical in some places.

Rookies were always wondering up here with the latest designed, neon chartreuse parkas (Sorry I guess I am a little bitter at the novices who attempt this climb without any prep.) I always carried a good climbing helmet, crampons, ice ax, and rope. I’d spend other savings on more important things, like a nice, quiet Alaskan vacation.

My father’s old friend, Richard Bass, gave me his twenty-year-old ski pants and an ugly, thirty-year-old, black drab parka. Bass was the first person to climb all seven of the world’s tallest mountains. I’d always remembered Bass’s comment when I was little:

“Prepared doesn’t mean flashy clothing, son. It means: Warm clothing, proper equipment, oh, and a damn good map!”

Although times have changed, my old school philosophy remained the same:

You can have MotionX GPS and Elevation Pro on your phone but if your phone breaks or your battery goes out you still need a map!

That’s the advice I’d give my co-workers who wanted a hike to the top.

That and:

If your phone breaks none of your hot new-fangled GPS garbage is worth your life!

If your battery goes dead,

“You’re on your own, son,” as Bass would say.

No sir! When your life depended on it, I wanted to pull out my old, trusty, waterproof map!

I was on point in a SEAL platoon that breached a compound in Kandahar, Afghanistan when I lost contact with my team. I wondered why, suddenly, I was the only guy in the place shooting bad guys. Our satellite feed had gone down and no one, except for me, seemed to be able to function!

After that I always thought,

Keep your stupid high tech stuff! I got my map!

Also, I didn’t mind people but they were sometimes a distraction from simply enjoying nature. As I continued up the mountain I did something very dangerous. I pulled out my iPhone 7 and put in ear buds. I searched for: “Sunrise” by Duran Duran[2] and hit play.

I knew this was dangerous, as I might not hear any calls for help or rocks hurling at me. But, for the moment, I wanted to be a rookie climber too and just enjoy the moment:

Sunrise!

It was beautiful.

Rays of golden light shot across the mountain and in an instant hit the fog in the valleys below like a beacon from heaven.

Whoever says there is no God clearly hasn’t seen this.

As I turned my head back up the mountain my mind couldn’t help but wonder to Mohammed Al-Aqsa, MAA, my new surveillance project.

My brain quickly buried that thought and I slammed that door shut.

I have to stop thinking about everything but this climb!

My mind immediately wandered again.

I found it hard to believe, at age thirty-five, Portland, this sleepy little town, in the valleys below, had grown into a sprawling metropolis of over two million people. So with rising numbers of good people comes the bad.

My latest job was to track and determine whether MAA was bad or just another Muslim caught in the red tape of government surveillance. MAA had already been watched 24/7 by the Bureau in Minnesota.