Words by Sadie Ford, Photos by Danny Kern
In a certain peak in Oregon, the landscape is covered with exquisite dikes–the most of any volcano in the west. A rare geological feature that shoots out of the ground to protrude like a spine on a dragon's back.
Three feet thick and 30 feet tall in some places, they create a cryptic land of Mordor feeling as they extend hundreds of feet down the slope. Surfing powder down alongside them gives the feeling of being about to be barreled by a wave frozen in time. A dragon spine protruding out of the earth. Exactly the type of place that adds a certain magic to your BC mission by further separating you from the place you came from with proximity to these alien features. These dikes may look unstable, but don't worry, just take them out to dinner, and they're nice to you ◡̈ Me being a full-time homosexual, it only feels fitting that I spend my pride month shred trip among giant heaping dikes.
Epic lines
A lot of cool fun dikes ◡̈
I'm drawn to this place for the bounty of dikes, of course, but the riding is excellent as well. So many different aspects and types of runs available in a small area. It makes it the ideal location for a human-powered overnight base camp, As long as you don't mind hoping to blow down for a long approach.
Frisk it for the biscuit.
40L multi-overnight pack club. No fair weather weenies allowed. (Crux 40 pack) Another lovely aspect of spring camping is the availability of open water sources. Easy living beach vibes.
With our base camp all set up, we began our ascent up our lines, skinning as long as we could before we dike up *cough* I mean spike up (crampons) to boot pack the rest of the way. We were joined by good friends Danny and Taylor, who are great additions for good times and spicy lines.
After approximately an hour or so of boot packing, we arrive at a spot just below the summit, rewarded with sweeping views and a crisp weather window with that deep winter veneer that sparkles as the mid-morning sun reflects off the ice crystals.
Topping out.
With clouds amassing on the western front, we knew we could drop this line to the base of the mountain and potentially have the time to get one more. We had scooped the hourly forecast on the national weather service earlier, which let us know we had till about two before anything above 6k was going to be completely socked in. One of the marks of good backcountry riding is becoming an amateur meteorologist. Every morning or evening over our backpacker meals (bag slop) were spent pouring over graphs that indicated hourly changes in wind, humidity, cloud coverage, and temperature in the effort to steal another wild experience with the skin of our teeth.
I'm the second to last to go, urged by a "Drop now while the light is good–love you!"
Always tell your friends you love them before you drop.
Slow, tight, controlled turns down the ridge top proper with both the east and north aspects flanking me give the feeling of being among the clouds rather than beneath them. I dive down to the east, and the snow field opens up to the expansive panel, making wide turns as fast as I can.
At the bottom, everyone is feeling elated and ready for more.
On the way up, we were eyeing a sub ridge across the bowl that gleamed with perfect snow consistency. We had enough time as we put the jets on. All systems go!
A boot pack steep enough to crawl up, our assessment was true of the snowpack. Soft, smooth, and the right depth. At the top, the thick clouds were beginning to boil over the mountain, making our light intermittent and warning us of impending shut out. It's a gambling game at this point–drop now in less than ideal visibility, or risk it getting worse.
The sky opened up for me. "Dropping in 30!"
Nailed it!
The land before time.
In the nick of time.
