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President,
Senior Scribes
Climbing Mount Hood
By Delbert Blickenstaff
It took me two tries to reach the top of Mt. Hood, which proves that
I’m not much of a mountain climber. In 1952 I went up with two
other fellows. One was my cousin, Paul, who was a dentist in
Portland, Oregon, and who was in excellent physical shape. The
other fellow was a young German exchange student who had been climbing
mountains in Europe all of his young life. I was a flatlander
from Indiana.
I have been told, by those with some experience, that Mt. Hood is the
easiest mountain on the west coast to climb. If you know what
you’re doing. Which I didn’t. I did have metal appliances
clamped to my boots which had spikes that helped prevent me from
sliding on the ice and snow. But we three climbers didn’t stick
together, and that was a big mistake. Of course the student went
on ahead, and climbing Mr. Hood was like child’s play for him.
Paul struggled along alone and finally reached the top to join the
German. I got up part way, lost my footing, slid about one
hundred yards down an ice field, and decided that I’d had enough.
I limped back to Timberline Lodge with my scraped left hand. To
add insult to injury, I met a fellow walking up, carrying a watermelon
on his shoulder.
On my second attempt I was more careful. My three companions were
on the staff of the University of Oregon School of Medicine, and one of
them had even climbed Mr. Hood previously. We stayed together
climbing, and even roped ourselves together near the top where there is
a narrow crest. We did reach the top and the view was
spectacular. In fact, I became somewhat euphoric in my
exclamations, and the other three were amused.
After returning home I told Louise that when I died I wanted my ashes
to be dropped on top of Mt. Hood, because that was the closest I ever
got to heaven. I have since changed by mind, about the ashes,
that is.
Delbert Blickenstaff, M. D.
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