Field Notes
Climbing Mount Hood: South Side Summit via 1 O’Clock Couloir
Climbing Mount Hood: South Side Summit via 1 O’Clock Couloir Since moving back to the Pacific Northwest in 2014, one goal has quietly sat in the back of my mind: to stand on top of Mount Hood by climbing the South Side route. As someone who craves raw adventure, I’ve chased after just about every trail in Oregon that delivers an epic view—and most of those views have included one of the volcanoes that line the Cascade Range. The most prominent of all being Mount Hood. And none loom quite like Hood. Even though I was born in Washington on the Kitsap Peninsula, I spent most of my childhood in Florida—feeling disconnected from adventure but constantly craving a move back to the West Coast. Since returning, the idea of climbing Mount Hood’s South Side has been an ongoing thought, idea, dream, and topic of conversation. After 10 years of looking up at it, I finally made it to the top. My brother-in-law—also named Robert—came with me on this climb, which made it even more meaningful. There’s something about pushing through the cold, the fear, and the altitude—side by side—that creates a bond you don’t forget. This is a breakdown of my experience—part story, part reflection, and hopefully something that encourages you if you’re looking to climb this incredible peak yourself. The South Side route draws climbers from all over—and it’s easy to see why. Mount Hood is one of the most climbed glaciated peaks in North America, with over 10,000 summit attempts each year. This shot, taken just below the Hog’s Back, looks up toward the steep upper face. From this angle, you can feel both the scale and the story of the climb before it even begins. Wy’east is a Beast Mount Hood, also known as Wy’east, is a beast of a mountain. I’ve climbed a handful of other volcanoes in the Northwest—Mount St. Helens, South Sister, Broken Top in the winter, and I went through the Sierra Nevada on the PCT in early spring which took me through ice and snow for 30 days. All of those technically count as mountaineering, but if I’m being honest, I never really felt like a mountaineer until this climb. This felt like the moment where it shifted. Like an initiation. Hood isn’t just a big hike. The incline increases with every step, and toward the top you’re on all fours, digging into ice with your tools. A lot of other volcanoes are simple walk-ups. Hood’s a whole different game. It starts to touch that realm of technical ice climbing. Most first-timers go for the Old Chute, which is a ~40º Class II climb. I’ve heard people say it’s more like a hard hike—but let’s be real: the mountain changes every year. There’s no such thing as “just” a hike on this one. You’re stepping into unknowns no matter what. For anyone thinking about climbing Mount Hood South Side for the first time, it’s important to understand how much the conditions can change year to year. For me, it wasn’t about getting to the top to say I did it. I’ve been itching to get into ice climbing for a while, so I wanted the challenge. I wanted the approach to matter. I wanted to feel what it was like to move through something steeper, sketchier, more alive. This was the first clear view of the Hot Rocks as we moved along the angled traverse from Devil’s Kitchen up toward the Hogs Back. The early morning light, the rise of steam, and the sheer contrast of ice and earth made it feel like we were stepping into the mountain’s core. The Climb Begins We left Timberline Lodge the morning of Sunday, April 13th, 2025 at 1:26 a.m. under a bright full moon. It lit up the entire mountain and gave us a surreal glow to climb under as we worked our way up the Palmer Snowfield. Timberline sits at 6,000’, and by the time you reach the top of the Palmer lift at 8,500’, it already feels like you’ve put in work. The grade steepens, your breath gets shorter, and that’s where the hike starts to feel like a climb. As we moved past Illumination Rock and onto the eastern side of Crater Rock, the wind picked up hard—and with it came the sharp hit of sulfur from the fumaroles above. We were aiming for Devil’s Kitchen at around 10,400’. It’s the first real place to pause, breathe, and gear up. We reached it around 6:00 a.m. in 10–20 mph winds and a wind chill around 0º. It’s where most climbers stop to swap trekking poles for ice axes, click out of skis and into boots, and add that last warm layer before things get slow and steep. It’s not a break. It’s a reset before the real effort starts. And this is where it felt like the real climb began. If you’re climbing Mount Hood South Side during early spring, be ready for wind, cold, and limited breaks before the final push. The fumaroles at Devil’s Kitchen are one of the most surreal sections of the climb—steam rising from the earth, the sharp hit of sulfur in the air, and climbers moving across the upper crater basin, fully immersed in the rawness of the mountain. Making our way across the angled traverse above the Hot Rocks—sun just rising behind me, with Mount Jefferson and the Three Sisters glowing in the distance. Devil’s Kitchen is the first real flat spot on the upper mountain where climbers pause to layer up, eat, and reset before the steep push begins. From here, you can spot Mount Jefferson and the Three Sisters stretching across the horizon—an epic backdrop to catch your breath before moving on. The Push to the Summit From Devil’s Kitchen, we climbed across an angled traverse up to the Hog’s Back at 10,600’. The higher we got, the more the exposure kicked in. And when we arrived, the whole upper mountain looked
Climbing Mount Hood: South Side Summit via 1 O’Clock Couloir
Climbing Mount Hood: South Side Summit via 1 O’Clock Couloir Since moving back to the Pacific Northwest in 2014, one goal has quietly sat in the back of my mind: to stand on top of Mount Hood by climbing the South Side route. As someone who craves raw adventure, I’ve chased after just about every trail in Oregon that delivers an epic view—and most of those views have included one of the volcanoes that line the Cascade Range. The most prominent of all being Mount Hood. And none loom quite like Hood. Even though I was born in Washington on the Kitsap Peninsula, I spent most of my childhood in Florida—feeling disconnected from adventure but constantly craving a move back to the West Coast. Since returning, the idea of climbing Mount Hood’s South Side has been an ongoing thought, idea, dream, and topic of conversation. After 10 years of looking up at it, I finally made it to the top. My brother-in-law—also named Robert—came with me on this climb, which made it even more meaningful. There’s something about pushing through the cold, the fear, and the altitude—side by side—that creates a bond you don’t forget. This is a breakdown of my experience—part story, part reflection, and hopefully something that encourages you if you’re looking to climb this incredible peak yourself. The South Side route draws climbers from all over—and it’s easy to see why. Mount Hood is one of the most climbed glaciated peaks in North America, with over 10,000 summit attempts each year. This shot, taken just below the Hog’s Back, looks up toward the steep upper face. From this angle, you can feel both the scale and the story of the climb before it even begins. Wy’east is a Beast Mount Hood, also known as Wy’east, is a beast of a mountain. I’ve climbed a handful of other volcanoes in the Northwest—Mount St. Helens, South Sister, Broken Top in the winter, and I went through the Sierra Nevada on the PCT in early spring which took me through ice and snow for 30 days. All of those technically count as mountaineering, but if I’m being honest, I never really felt like a mountaineer until this climb. This felt like the moment where it shifted. Like an initiation. Hood isn’t just a big hike. The incline increases with every step, and toward the top you’re on all fours, digging into ice with your tools. A lot of other volcanoes are simple walk-ups. Hood’s a whole different game. It starts to touch that realm of technical ice climbing. Most first-timers go for the Old Chute, which is a ~40º Class II climb. I’ve heard people say it’s more like a hard hike—but let’s be real: the mountain changes every year. There’s no such thing as “just” a hike on this one. You’re stepping into unknowns no matter what. For anyone thinking about climbing Mount Hood South Side for the first time, it’s important to understand how much the conditions can change year to year. For me, it wasn’t about getting to the top to say I did it. I’ve been itching to get into ice climbing for a while, so I wanted the challenge. I wanted the approach to matter. I wanted to feel what it was like to move through something steeper, sketchier, more alive. This was the first clear view of the Hot Rocks as we moved along the angled traverse from Devil’s Kitchen up toward the Hogs Back. The early morning light, the rise of steam, and the sheer contrast of ice and earth made it feel like we were stepping into the mountain’s core. The Climb Begins We left Timberline Lodge the morning of Sunday, April 13th, 2025 at 1:26 a.m. under a bright full moon. It lit up the entire mountain and gave us a surreal glow to climb under as we worked our way up the Palmer Snowfield. Timberline sits at 6,000’, and by the time you reach the top of the Palmer lift at 8,500’, it already feels like you’ve put in work. The grade steepens, your breath gets shorter, and that’s where the hike starts to feel like a climb. As we moved past Illumination Rock and onto the eastern side of Crater Rock, the wind picked up hard—and with it came the sharp hit of sulfur from the fumaroles above. We were aiming for Devil’s Kitchen at around 10,400’. It’s the first real place to pause, breathe, and gear up. We reached it around 6:00 a.m. in 10–20 mph winds and a wind chill around 0º. It’s where most climbers stop to swap trekking poles for ice axes, click out of skis and into boots, and add that last warm layer before things get slow and steep. It’s not a break. It’s a reset before the real effort starts. And this is where it felt like the real climb began. If you’re climbing Mount Hood South Side during early spring, be ready for wind, cold, and limited breaks before the final push. The fumaroles at Devil’s Kitchen are one of the most surreal sections of the climb—steam rising from the earth, the sharp hit of sulfur in the air, and climbers moving across the upper crater basin, fully immersed in the rawness of the mountain. Making our way across the angled traverse above the Hot Rocks—sun just rising behind me, with Mount Jefferson and the Three Sisters glowing in the distance. Devil’s Kitchen is the first real flat spot on the upper mountain where climbers pause to layer up, eat, and reset before the steep push begins. From here, you can spot Mount Jefferson and the Three Sisters stretching across the horizon—an epic backdrop to catch your breath before moving on. The Push to the Summit From Devil’s Kitchen, we climbed across an angled traverse up to the Hog’s Back at 10,600’. The higher we got, the more the exposure kicked in. And when we arrived, the whole upper mountain looked