Pro Guiding Service - Ski Mountaineering

Silcox Hut Then And Now

By Andy Dappen | Backcountry | January 1998
The evening wind blew hard enough to lift spindrift and pack it in the pores of my peach-fuzzed face--hard enough, as it often does on the barren slopes above Timberline Lodge, to transform the idle into frozen meat. We were not idle but we shivered, nonetheless, dreading the black hours ahead. At the top of the Magic Mile, then the high-point of development on Mt. Hood, we would pitch a tent and feign sleep before making our predawn departure for the summit of Oregon's highest peak.

As we wandered away from the upper station of the ski lift looking for a place to camp, our headlamps illuminated the solid rock wall of a hut. We flew to it--like mosquitos to blood--found the door and squeezed in.

Today, 22 years later, I might have viewed the interior differently, but to two frozen college students the meter-thick layer of snow carpeting the floor of the structure was a trivial detail. Behind these sturdy rock walls the wind was inaudible. That alone gave the Silcox Warming Hut, as our map called the place, a four-star rating.

For the next decade, Silcox became a fixture in my climbing and skiing adventures on Mt. Hood. I did not know then that this hut, completed in 1939 as a Works Progress Administration project for $80,000, housed the bullwheel of the second chairlift in the country--the Magic Mile Lift. I did not know the hut had provided warmth, shelter, and food to skiers until 1962 when the Magic Mile was rebuilt. I knew only that this shelter, though abandoned and in disrepair, was the Waldorf Astoria next to the cocoon of a tent.

Progress has a way of ruining those things we hold sacred. In 1994, when I learned the Silcox Hut had been restored and reopened as a warming area for day skiers and a lodge for overnighters, I knew progress had trammeled one of my holy cows.

The movement to restore Silcox to its New-Deal glory germinated twelve years ago when a cadre of climbers, intent on saving a structure the Forest Service threatened to tear down, formed a non-profit group called The Friends of Silcox Hut. Over an eight-year period, hundreds of volunteers poured $400,000 of donated funds and an equal dollar figure of donated materials and services into the structure. They constructed bunk rooms capable of housing 24 overnight visitors, dug drain fields, laid water pipes, installed bathrooms and showers, built a modern kitchen, replicated the wood and iron work of the original hut, wired the structure, and refurbished vintage furniture and fixtures.

Then, in an unusual form of symbiosis, The Friends of Silcox Hut (whose interest was in restoring, not managing, the structure) turned the fruit of their labor over to the RLK & Company, operators of Timberline Lodge (whose interest was in managing, not restoring, the structure). In June 1994, Silcox Hut reopened and a place that had bunked me for free was charging room and board.

Glowing reviews followed. The Oregonian reported "People come here and they leave inspired, not just by the building but by the passion that's gone into the place." A national ski magazine used the hackneyed comparison that a lump of coal had been transformed into, yup, a diamond. To support my ravings about the perverse price of progress, I decided it was time to witness what the princes of wimpdom had done to degrade my castle of austerity.

***
It's a May day when my partner, Witt, and I summit Mt. Hood and by the slanted rays of late afternoon ski down the mountain's south side. Clouds consume the valleys, leaving only volcanic islands of snow visible above the cumulus ocean. We draw virgin tracks down the steeps forming the headwaters of the White River Canyon, thread the crevasses flanking the Palmer Glacier, and carve hundreds of turns through three inches of corn snow as we snake down to the hut.

Here I linger outdoors, not anxious to replace the views of a yellowing mountain with the darkness of a stone grotto. But when Witt says we can tap a beer inside, I quickly drag my parched palate indoors.

The lower floor through which we enter was never visible to me in olden times--this was the pit containing the bullwheel of the original lift and, in winter, lay buried under snow. Now the space houses a central common area encircled by six cubicles, each capable of sleeping four people. Quality workmanship is a repeating theme in everything from the cedar paneling, fir bunks, and hand-made light scones to the wrought-iron banisters capped by the heads of Northwestern animals. We throw our day packs into one of the cubicles and head up stone stairs to the top floor.

Our host, Steve Buchen, stands behind the hut's original wooden counter, a 500-year-old slab of Douglas fir, and we crack beers while Steve spews stories (some true, some a stretch of the imagination) about the hut and the mountain.

Other guests recount stories of their own. Dale tells of the time he skied off the peak and the ice bridge over the bergschrund collapsed, leaving him jammed amongst refrigerator-sized blocks. He crawled out of his grave by tunnelling sideways with his hands, but had so little room to maneuver he unbuckled and jettisoned his boots. Once free, he descended the mountain in stocking feet.The aroma of lasagna permeates the room, but first we are summoned to dispatch an appetizer of morels and chanterelles. I sink into a chair which sits in the warmth of a fire blazing in a cavernous fireplace and savor the morels while staring up at the roof.

The hand-hewn rafters are 12-inches in diameter and buttressed in stress areas with huge metal shanks. Some things never change. This is a roof that for 58 years has shielded skiers against 20-foot snow loads and 100-mph winds.

Other things change a lot. Under the roof where I have cooked my own top ramen and slept in a smelly sleeping bag, I will sup on lasagna, shower in hot water, and sleep in fresh linens. I muse that to call this 3000-square-foot structure a "hut" is a misnomer. In the context of a word conjuring images of plywood A-frames, this is the Mother of all huts.

As beer and mushrooms massage my throat and I anticipate tomorrow's pancake breakfast before departing to ski the 5000-vertical-foot slopes of Wy'east on the mountain's east side, I admit that I like the new Silcox. But in deference to youthful memories forged here, I'm unwilling to confess I like it better--I'm still not admitting that I've joined camps with the wimps.

SIDEBAR: JUST THE FACTS

LOCATION: Silcox Hut (elev. 6910) sits one mile and 1000 vertical feet above Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, Oregon.

OWNERSHIP: Silcox Hut is owned by the Forest Service and named after Ferdinand Silcox, head of the Forest Service when the hut was built. RLK & Company, operators of Timberline Lodge, manage the hut.

USE: Silcox is mainly rented to (and in high demand by) groups. Weekends are especially popular and should be booked far in advance. Weekday bookings are easier to swing on short notice. Minimum group size is 12.

COST: Overnight stays cost $80/night/person. Price includes room, dinner, breakfast, and round-trip transport by snowcat.

HOURS: Overnight wintertime guests have exclusive use of the hut between the hours of 4:00 p.m. and 11:00 a.m. During the winter ski season, the hut's top floor is open to downhill skiers during the midday hours. In May, the top floor of the hut is open 24 hours a day to climbers in need of a snack.

RESERVATIONS/INFORMATION: Call Timberline's Sales Office (503-295-1828).
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