The summit that started it all. When 2024 began I had no knowledge of SOTA and only a vague familiarity (but zero interest in) ham radio. For whatever reason, YouTube began to feed me some video about ham radio and a volcano. I vehemently ignored it, perhaps even clicking the “not interested” option, but the algorithm persisted.
Finally I gave in and my eyes went wide with curiosity—there was a guy scree-surfing on top of a windy Mount Saint Helens with a handheld radio talking to someone else [turns out] on another summit. I didn’t know what I was watching, but I knew that I wanted in on it.
About 16 months later and here I am leaving the Climber’s Bivuoac trailhead with three partners, a ham radio license and a rough plan.
The ascent up Saint Helens can be broken into 3 segments: the forested trail, the boulder field, and the sand/ash climb. With headlamps and snacks, we started right at 5:30AM hoping to reach the boulder field before sunrise.
Route-finding is not a problem, with tall wooden poles marking the way up. We kept a consistent pace up with only a couple of short breaks to occasionally take in the view and swap out clothing layers.
It took us a bit under four hours to reach to the top where we had to then hike along the edge to get up to the true summit.
Using my Anytone 878 and a Smiley 2M whip, I made 11 FM contacts and easily activated my first volcano. We sat down to eat our sandwiches and just look out at the other mountains, feeling lucky on this incredibly clear day.
Finally, it was time to head back down. We had a bit of a drive ahead to our hotel in Hood River… and the beers & burgers at Pfriem Brewing were already sounding pretty damn good.
This is a bit of a scouting mission as I’d only been to the Blue Mountains a couple of times and those were the pre-summit hunting days. Two relatively easy looking targets: Mount Misery W7W/WE-003 and the Garfield County High Point W7W/WE-002.
Happy to report that the Umatilla National Forest roads were surprisingly wide a smooth, making the long drive to get into the business bearable. As you get closer to the summits, the road does begin to narrow and roughen, but nothing notable.
Garfield County High Point was first up and was a relatively easy trail hike from the parking area below. The activation zone was wide open with some nice views, especially to the south-east.
After that clean activation, I made my back to the car and then relocated a bit closer to Mount Misery. There was a nice pullout along the otherwise narrow section of road just below the summit. The hike up was steep with no trail, but straightforward.
I spent a fair amount of time looking south towards unactivated Prominencians Peak W7W/WE-013 and Halsey Butte W7W/WE-010. Both have been on my radar for quite some time and although I didn’t make it out this year, I’m hoping for a 2026 attempt. The terrain looked to be super rough and overgrown—it’ll probably be a pretty difficult and long day for each.
A tough week resulted in the hasty decision to head into the Wallowas of Eastern Oregon. We arrived at the Hurricane Creek Campground just before sunset on a Thursday evening to set up camp and crawl into the tent.
Up early Friday we made our way to the “trailhead” along Lime Quarry Rd 45.37808, -117.35148
Immediately we were met with an hour or so of incredibly steep climbing until reaching the top with the most serene creek, a knobby spire to look at and a bench to have a snack on. From there it was the most enjoyable flat trail along a nice stream to the left with a drop off and views to the right. There was an opportunity to camp at one point along this path which I may utilize next time.
Then the trail fizzled out and the bushwhack began. Not really knowing whether we wanted to tackel both Ruby Peak and Traverse Ridge or just one or the other, we loosely followed someone else’s GPX track up to a saddle between the two. That climb up sucked the spirit out of us, at least momentarily. Ruby Peak looked easily doable but the return would be back down the way we came–and that wasn’t a fun prospect.
Traverse Ridge was a bit more daunting from our approach but it was 10 points (as opposed to Ruby’s 8) and it seemed like we could take the ridgeline for the majority of the return back to where we originally left the trail. Daylight was about to become an issue so we opted for Traverse.
Looking back towards Ruby Peak W7O/NE-024Our approach line was straight up the middle avoiding the snow.
The scramble up wasn’t necessarily exposed, but it was crazy steep and a fall would’ve been really bad. We took our time and aimed our path up between two snow patches. Topping out was a great experience… the views were stellar and the summit itself was open and flat.
Corrie gave her a feet a rest and kept an eye on the clouds.Looking south to Twin Peaks W7O/NE-004
Many times, getting back can feel like the greater challenge. This was no truer today. The portion of our return along the ridgeline was incredible, full of impressive views and varied geography. But when it came time to leave the ridge and shwack our way back to the trail, this is when the fun stopped.
Corrie is a true badass. A former D1 rowing athlete with a 2k ergo best that stood at WSU for over a decade–she’s no stranger to the suffering. This hike had some endurance requirements, but it also had a fair amount of scrambly as well as a lot of swhack; and she’s not a fan of either those. But she powered through all of it and we ended with a real solid day behind us that we’ll remember for quite some time.
I had two different GPX routes to reference for our return and I don’t think there’s necessarily a good way to get off this ridge without a decent amount of suck. You just gotta pick a line, move, pick a new line, and repeat.
Note: I dropped a pin on the map labeled as “up ridge” which is essentially at the top of the first climb where we stopped to snack. Would going up that ridgeline and following it to Ruby, then crossing over to Traverse be a better option? A few weeks after the fact as I write this, I seem to think the initial climb up to that ridge might be a bit sketch… but I’d be willing to consider it the next time I go out.
Northwest of Spokane lies a pocket of summits I’ve been eyeballing for months—about a dozen SOTA-qualifying peaks in the 6000–7000 ft range. With some free time and an itch to chase points and elevation, I mapped out a three-day backpacking trip in early June aiming to activate at least four eight-pointers.
With almost zero familiarity with the area (always a great start), I hit the trail Thursday afternoon. I started from Sherman Pass Trailhead, heading south along the Kettle Crest, skirting just west of Sherman and Snow Peaks. Somewhere in a saddle—conveniently next to a rentable Forest Service cabin—I found a near-perfect campsite and set up shop. It was only about 5 p.m., still bright out, but the bugs had unionized and were not accepting negotiations. I retreated to my tent early to snack on a cold burrito.
Inside, I studied the Fred Cady Elecraft KX2 book on my Kindle. This was the radio’s first go—I’d had the KX2 for a grand total of two days, with only one QSO under my belt (to prove it wasn’t a brick). Would I manage a successful mountaintop activation with just 20 minutes of experience? Good question. I was wondering the same thing.
Bald Mountain W7W/FR-003
The plan was to start from the southernmost peak—Edds—and work my way north, leaving Bald for latter in the day. But standing there sizing up the peaks, Bald looked like it meant business. I decided it was smarter to hit it first while I still had fresh legs and optimism.
I ignored existing online beta that suggested a south/southwest approach and instead eyed a doable-looking line from the north/northeast. My logic: less snow exposure on the north side. My reality: boulder fields of doom. Not a total disaster, but next time, I’ll take the advice left on Peakbagger and come in from the southwest.
Bald Mountain (left) and Edds Mountain (right)Mast in the air with coax coming down off the near rock.Cairn at the very top of Bald Mountain.
Edds Mountain W7W/FR-011
After Bald, I hit Edds. It was heavily treed, buzzing with biting insects, and honestly, kind of a slog. A summit, sure, but not one I’d be super eager to do again (but points are points, right?).
The hike back to camp via Bald was full of blowdowns—not the fun “challenge your agility” kind, but the soul-sapping “why do I hike again?” kind. I got back to camp, fired up some spicy Jetboil ramen, and collapsed. Big day. Bigger sleep.
Looking at Edds from Bald Mountain summit.Dinner and reflection on the day.
Snow Peak W7W/FR-002
I rolled out of the tent early the next morning, fueled by two Pop-Tarts and some instant coffee that was probably more morale than caffeine. Snow Peak was a short jam from camp and was my favorite of the trip. Incredibly steep but not technical, with a gorgeous and antenna-friendly summit with solid 360-degree views. 10/10, would scramble again.
Snow Peak from the north ridge.
Sherman Peak W7W/FR-005
In theory, you can traverse from Snow to Sherman along the ridge. In practice, I encountered enough ankle-breaking boulders and sketchy snow cornices to reconsider all my life choices. Eventually, I bailed east off the ridge and reconnected with the trail (emphasis on “eventually”).
Sherman’s summit zone is rocky and sparse on shade—great for a view, not so great for loitering. I activated, grabbed a few photos, and made my way back to the trailhead. Visions of a burger and beer in Republic, WA fueled the final miles.
Looking towards Sherman from Snow Peak summit.Activating Sherman looking back upon Snow Peak.
Paradise Peak W7W/FR-023
To put a bow on the weekend, I decided to squeeze in a first activation of Paradise Peak. This was both a success and a declaration: never again.
The drive up was an long choose-your-own-adventure through logging roads. The hike was heinously steep and overgrown, with barely enough room to set up and operate. One of those summits where the only reward is points, and getting down safely. But hey, it’s in the logbook.
Paradise Peak from the car. Doesn’t look that bad from here.
Despite the mosquitoes, blowdowns, and the self-inflicted off-route scrambling, this trip was an absolute win. I’ll likely repeat a version of it next year, and if Future Me is reading this, here are a few things to consider:
Rent the damn cabin. Tent life is fine, but the cabin would naturally be better.
Bring bug spray and pants. Seriously.
Bald Mountain: SW approach only. Or bring a helmet because that northern approach was sketch.
Maybe try for a couple of those summits north of the highway. They’re eight-pointers as well.
A couple of Northern Idaho’s smallish summits that, in an earlier spring attempt were blocked by snow, are a bit of a long forest road drive to access. As you start to climb above 5300ft, FR301 becomes more rough than a standard SUV can handle. I parked my Honda at 47.01588, -116.06868 and walked the rest of the way up the road,
Grandmother Mountain W7I/NI-085 was the first objective and a pleasant trail hike out to the top. Unactivated with a great view, I bagged the chasers on 40m then moved on to the next.
Grandmother Mountain
Backtracking along the trail I came to an overgrown but established sidetrail heading east that seemed to head right below the summit I was aiming for, Mark’s Butte W7I/NI-092. After following this one for awhile, which was no breeze, I decided it was time to start heading straight up the hill. The saddle chute was pretty snowy and from what I could see, up the side was the best option.
This was a mistake. Incredibly steep with loose footing, it was a sketchy ascent that included several slips and a couple of near falls. As I got closer to the top, I soon realized I was in a pickle.
The snow cornice above me was significant. It stretched about as far to the climber’s left as I could see, with a steep snow field below. Directly above was a no-go and going back down was, in my mind, not an option. It appeared as though this field of snow continued to far out to climber’s right as well, but the thick vegetation only gave me about 50 meters of sight.
Stayed to the right of the snowfield on the ascent.Straight up was a no-go.
This was a shitty spot to be in. I’ve been in some not-so-great situations in the outdoors and this felt like it could get real bad, real quick. So much so that I messaged my wife via the InReach with my location and said I was okay, but if you don’t hear from me in a few hours this is probably where I’ll be.
Sitting down to take a beat, drink some water and eat a cliffbar, I worked through my options. Up and to the left would most likely end in a fall that would probably kill me. Back down might be the same, but the fall risk a little less due to the lack of snow. To the right was the known unknown—it might still end poorly, but there was a chance I could find a way.
The mountain gods gave me a nod because after a hundred meters or so the snow thinned out and I could see daylight above. Several more minutes of struggling but with renewed enthusiasm, I broke through to once of the nicest summit clearings in all of northern Idaho.
In the above photos, I’m up on top of Mark’s Butte looking down over the cornice. Turns out, this entire area just below and to the east of Mark’s is named Freezeout Ridge—we seems a little too on the nose.
I made a relatively quick activation of this guy but all I really wanted to was to get on the road back home. The climb down off of the west side of Mark’s quickly became crazy thick and a tough go. This day wasn’t going to let me off the hook easy.
I finally busted back out into the road and the rest is history. If I were to attempt Mark’s again, I would go at it from the road which is directly north. Surely there’s an easier way up.
Found myself up in the Bellingham, WA area for a work function over Memorial Day weekend, so why not take advantage of the North Cascades and bag a summit?
South Lookout Mountain looked quite doable and literally right across the street (and down a long road) from the Airbnb. This is early in the season, probably the worst time to try and hike it because the snow is still 3-4 feet deep yet the temps are warm, making for a Slushee-like consistency. Microspikes, GORE-TEX shoes, and shin-high gaiters definitely helped minimize the suck.
The sun was out and I had the day to myself with frequent glimpses of Mount Baker just to my east. After becoming frustrated with the difficult snow hiking, I made the decision to bypass the switchbacks of the road and just head straight up the side of the hill–that wasn’t the best decision of the day.
Once at the top I stamped down a good spot to operate, set up the EFHW and fired up the ‘ol Icom 705. This was a bittersweet activation as it was most likely the last time I’d use the 705. A new radio was ordered and shipped… more on that at a later date.
With nary a smidge of cellular coverage, I didn’t bother spotting myself and just hunted around for random SOTA ops calling CQ. I only made six contacts but all were summit-to-summits, which is pretty fun. That includes one made on 2m with the handheld, something I don’t get to do very often over in the sparsely populated eastern side of the state.
A relatively easy summit to bag, the biggest cost was the time it took drive the Forest Service roads to get to the start. This is Idaho, so it should go without saying that there’s logging activity. I keep thinking I should nab myself a little CB radio so I can monitor the posted channels when I head into these areas.
Plenty of parking area at the gated start, there was a nice trickle of fresh snow melt coming off the hillside. The walk in was a gradual climb that’s hardly worth mentioning. Once getting a bit higher, coincidentally where all of the trees are cut down, the views are rather interesting if you can look past the coniferous carnage (pardon my poetry).
At some point there road turns and you might be tempted to follow it, but going straight through the trees and right up the side of the hill is the quicker option. The true summit was a little difficult to find as the veg was pretty thick and I don’t think the map data is totally accurate. Regardless, I made it to where the GPS pointed me and was within the activation zone, so up the goes the wire.
The 20-meter band was BUSY so after answering WD9DWD’s CQ for the Handiham‘s QSO event (a long-distance Idaho to Idaho call), I spotted myself and was greeted by personal chasers N0WAE and WW7D, plus a couple of summit-to-summits which I always enjoy.
Back down the car for a nice drive out and a celebratory pint of Pilsner at Pour Company. Gotta pat myself on the back for a good afternoon touching grass and nabbing another first activation.
Almost immediately after leaving the parking lot, the ascent up the side of the ridge begins. It’s steep—gaining over 600 feet in the first quarter mile or so. The traverse across the ridgeline continues for another two miles, with plenty of additional climbing, until we topped out at the high point which felt like a flat, grassy mesa.
Start of the climb, looking back towards the parking lot.
During the approach we saw a herd of bighorn below us to the south and watched a fast-moving group of mule deer book it across the draw.
There were no trees in the activation zone, which made for a great 360 view of the surrounding hills and distant snow-capped mountains. As soon as the antenna was up, rain began to sprinkle on us. After four QSOs, which took about 20 minutes, the rain was falling heavier and it felt like a smart idea to get off the ridge.
A nice place to stop, except for the rain.
Route-finding back down towards the trail was steep, rocky, and a little sketch. We randomly found a geocache at the base of a rock spire so I stopped to write in the logbook and Corrie tossed in a friendship bracelet.
The descent doesn’t look all that inviting.Wildflowers were out. Spring is here!
Returning on the trail felt wildly fast and easy after spending 3 hours navigating the cross-country route above.
This could be done in reverse, but we both agreed that the idea of descending the eastern section that we initially went up seemed scary; we’d probably do it counter-clockwise again.
For April 4th the weather was prime, though I should’ve started earlier in the morning when it was colder—more on that later. The turn off for the FS roads/trails was completely snowed in (see photo), so I parked off of the hwy a hundred yards up at a better pull around.
Gate for the road up was locked and I’m not sure if it’s seasonal or if it’s just perma-locked. The snow was relatively deep at a good 4-8″ for a majority of the hike. Luckily, I was staying on top of the crust as I didn’t bring snowshoes or even more regrettably, gaiters. The path up is a forest road, making it easy to follow and I assume that holds true in the summer. As I gained altitude and the road became more exposed, the post-holing started.
At some point I could tell that I was just below the activation zone but my planned route had another half mile or so to go. The post-holing was becoming obnoxious so the decision was made to just ascend through the trees straight up the hill. Lots of animal sign up there.
The AZ was relatively clear and made for a nice place to set up an antenna and operate. Not much of a view but I was happy to have some sunshine and a little bare ground.
Band conditions seemed sub-optimal so after making six contacts and not hearing much else, it was time to head back.
At this point the temps had warmed and the sun was high. While 80% of my steps on the way up stayed on top of the firm snow crust, now 80% of my steps were breaking through and I was sinking ankle-to-knee deep. That was tough going and I badly wished I had brought my gaiters. A lesson learned.
It’s been a mild January thus far and this weekend, although windy, was a prime 42F. Running a bit short on time, a close-to-home hill would be on the menu and Smoot was today’s flavor.
To be honest, I’m not exactly sure about the accessibility of this summit. Some fencing along the nearby gravel road has Washington State University signs declaring no trespassing—but I’ve spoken with two individuals who have assured me that as long as you are traveling by foot and being respectful there is no issue.
Parking is obvious at the Rose Creek Nature Preserve. Considering the above, I booked it rather quickly up the hill until slipping into the trees where I’m a little less exposed to the road. The summit approach is rather unremarkable. There’s a lightly groomed path, probably for researchers to access the wildlife preserve, which meanders the ridgeline towards the summit. It’s straightforward until eventually reaching an intersection. Now heading south you’re less than a quarter mile and under 200ft elevation from the AZ. Plenty of trees there for a bit of a wind break (or shade).
This was the first activation using my new mast, the “POTA Explorer” which is a rather stout 33ft carbon fiber pole. Because it’s so much taller, with thicker diameter segments, than my trusty SOTA Beam 6 (19.6ft), the Explorer’s penchant to tip is more significant and I had to prop it up in a tree to keep it from falling over. I’ll be adding some prusik cord for next time if I need to guy it.
The activation was relatively smooth with a dozen contacts including a summit-to-summit.
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Also this year, I am planning on photographing all of my activations on film. This was a bit of a test run as I haven’t shot much film in the past 20 years and I haven’t developed film myself since college circa 2001-2003. I’d say this turned out to be a success and am looking forward to the added pain in the ass this will all surely be.
Nikon F2 | Ilford FP4+
Thanks to all of my chasers, this was a good solid run as I shook the dust off my SOTA skills. The S2S with K7FOP and K7ATN was especially a treat, as always.
