I applied to four lotteries and won exactly none of them. As a result, no Enchantments, no Mount Rainier, no Mount Whitney, and no The Wave. It shouldn't be a surprise. I do this every year and every year I commiserate with the 70 million other people who didn't get a permit.

After failing to win lotteries, I look to secure permits through the first-come, first-served process. Unfortunately, this makes me think of trying to register for college classes oh so long ago. Sure, the recreation.gov web site is a heck of a lot fancier than calling StarMan and punching buttons, but seeing my browser stall while loading is just as frustrating as hearing a busy signal.

Thankfully, I was able to secure a permit for Mount Saint Helens in late April. A little early, perhaps, but definitely better than being a little late. Early means more winter weather, but late means loose rock and ash. No thanks. Of course, a "little early" this year meant the whole trip was in jeopardy thanks to a surprise snow storm that dumped several feet of snow on the road to the trailhead the day after the plowing stopped!

Pins and needles, but it melted out just enough for us to make the three hour drive Saturday afternoon. We arrived in time to shift gear in the car and settle in for a brief snooze before our alarms went off. Why was our snoozing short? Alpine start, baby.

For the uninitiated, an alpine start is when you start you climb before sunrise in order to take advantage of more stable conditions. When I climbed Mount Rainier, we started from high camp at 12:30am. Helens is a much less demanding mountain, so we were on trail at 4:30am.

The first few miles are through the trees along old logging roads. It's good it was dark, because there was nothing to see. We made good time and left the forest just before sunrise. Before us lay the seemingly mellow snow slope with a few rocks exposed on ridges. No problem!

Tromp tromp. Stomp stomp. Up we went. There were some headlamps high on the mountain already making their way down. We passed a few groups and were passed by a few.

While not carrying massively heavy packs, they were more than an average dayhike. In addition to the usual essentials, we had ice axes, snowshoes, crampons, and helmets. The sky was clear so we were likely to need all this gear save the helmet, which was carried along with an N95 mask to be used not for virus protection, but in the event of an eruption.

Oh, yeah. Did I mention Mount Saint Helens is very much still an active volcano? It lost the top 1,800 feet in 1981 leaving a massive crater behind, but in the last 40 years it's been building a lava dome in an attempt to regain its former glory. Eruptions are rare, but it's definitely not dormant.

Once the sun was fully out it started getting warm. We shed layers to avoid overheating and slathered on the sunscreen. The snow was starting to soften making travel a little more difficult, but our early start was paying off.

Just below the summit there's a nasty steep section that really took it out of me. The boy had no problem, but in the 12 years since the last time I climbed Helens, either this slope got harder or I got older. (I'm betting it's the former.) Henry pulled away and got nearly to the summit before sitting down to wait for me. By the time I got there, he was fully bundled up against the brutal wind that sucked the heat from everything.

Somehow, we had timed it just right. The early groups had already headed down. The late groups hadn't arrived. There were only four other people near the crater rim and the wind made it hard to hear someone standing right next to you let alone sitting 50 feet away.

Unfortunately, the wind wasn't pleasant so we didn't linger. I wanted to look in down in the crater and show HOS what was there. Or rather what wasn't there. Instead, we raced away from the rim and down until we were out of the wind.

Suddenly, it was hot again. We dropped all the coats we'd put on and started looking for glissade tracks. The snow had a styrofoam-like consistency up high so we couldn't get any speed by just sitting. Previous glissaders had formed some tracks, but since they were still rock hard from the night's freeze it was less than comfortable. We walked down until we found some tracks that were more inviting.

Hours up, minutes down. Awesome.

The tracks paralleled the main route up so we casually slid past climbers struggling with their loads. Some looked at us with disdain. Some were complimentary. A skier gave me a thumbs up.

"I can't ski worth a darn, but I'm great at sitting on my butt!"

When we reached the flats, we reluctantly stood up and promptly postholed. Finally, the snowshoes we'd carried to the summit and back were useful! We made our way back to the trailhead, stepping aside for skiers that were having a much easier time down than we were even with the snowshoes.

So, what did the boy think of the trip? "Awesome!" Yeah. Awesome, all right. This was just the first of our permitted trips this year. There are four more scheduled through September. If I can get half this level of satisfaction out of each of them, I'll have had a great adventure season indeed.

📍On the lands of the Klickitat people.