Each year, Asit Rathod returns to Illumination Saddle on Mount Hood on the summer solstice to celebrate friends, life and summer corn turns on the longest day of the year.
Summers in Portland, Oregon, had always been about driving fast, smoking cigars, shooting guns and drinking whiskey. But, in 2010, I had the itch for some turns, even deep into summer. So, I reached out to a few of my closest friends, Luke Bradford and Carlos Martinez. We rallied up to Mount Hood to have a BroPicnic at Illumination Saddle and watch the sunset on the longest day of the year. We brought what any proper gentlemen would bring: whiskey, cigars, wine from Luke’s winery; cheese, bread and chocolates; music; Kool Aid to make snowball targets and shotguns with lots of shells. And, of course, skis for the long-awaited turns down.
Our only agenda was to tell stories, eat, drink, shoot naked and ski. And that’s exactly what happened. We danced, laughed, drank, smoked and acted like the kids from Lord of the Flies. Well, without the murder.
As sunset approached, the music went off. We sat in silence watching the light fade over the Oregon Coast Range. Hugging while exchanging high fives and “I love you b,” we clipped in and began skiing the most perfect summer corn. Couldn’t make a bad turn if you tried. I was so lost in the moment I don’t remember arriving back at Timberline or how we got home. We knew how special of a day we had experienced. A tradition was born.
Last year was the 15th year of a celebration that started with three brothers with nothing more in our hearts than having fun. Every year, as I watch the sun set and share deep laughs on Mount Hood, I ask myself the question: How do traditions begin? No one has ever thought, “I’m going to do this to start an epic tradition!” I think traditions simply start without caring about anything but experiencing a moment.
The following year, 2011, we invited a few more friends, and the day accelerated from there. Almost a decade of tradition later, I was told the event was going to get shut down. At first, I was angry, then bewildered and then ready to fight. Having been in a fair bit of legal trouble in this life, I knew it was best to get in front of this issue. I called the sheriff’s department and was directed to talk to the National Forest Ranger Ross Gamboa.
As we started chatting, he seemed distant as a typical cop would sound. He explained clearly that if anyone was hurt, they would be coming for me personally. I’ve always had an outlaw spirit so fear of legal or financial consequences didn’t scare me. What I didn’t like was the idea that someone could get hurt. That the event I loved could ruin the mountain experience for others. Organized events in National Forest Land have to get permits not just for safety but to preserve the nature of the land. It is for all to enjoy without the interruption of large groups taking from the beauty of this land. I never wanted to take from anyone’s experience on Mount Hood.
Gamboa explained why the National Forest Department has these laws, something I had never considered. As the conversation progressed, we turned from opposing sides to chatting like friends. I made the choice on that phone call to cancel the event. Kind of.
That night, I went home and typed up an email laying out why I love the solstice Hood gathering, but also passing on some of the lessons I learned from Gamboa. I sent it out to the community: “8TH Annual Illumination Saddle Summer Solstice is Officially CANCELLED!!”
Enjoying the summer solstice on Mount Hood was never intended to be an organized event. The reason we enter the mountains is for the beauty of adventure. Adventure can never be organized. So, I put together suggestions for folks who still wanted to enjoy the solstice on Mount Hood. Fill out and carry a permit, leave fireworks and firearms at home, respect the Timberline Ski Area boundary and don’t just pick up your own trash, make sure the site is left better than you found it. “Most importantly, check the ‘common sense’ box. If you can’t honestly check this box, you should consider calling a friend for a ride home,” I wrote of the permit process.
After officially canceling the event, I realized that this was not actually my event at all. It never had been. The summer solstice had been happening for thousands of years before me and will for years after. My statement was my humble attempt to articulate how to enjoy these places responsibly: The rules of the land exist to protect the experience for everyone. The mountains don’t belong to any one person; they belong to all of us. Respecting that is what keeps these places wild and beautiful for generations to come.
We still made our annual trek to Illumination Saddle that summer. Since then, I’ve shied away from the gathering crowds. But each year, the sun still casts a golden glow on the land, the people and the family we all love. Raucous laughter permeates the atmosphere. Magic is the only way I can explain what Illumination Saddle is on the summer solstice.
Sixteen years on, what started as three brothers with a picnic and a pair of skis has grown into something far bigger than any of us imagined. Hundreds of people now make the trek to Illumination Saddle on the longest day of the year. That’s families, skiers, hikers and strangers who become friends on the mountain.
By talking to Gamboa and changing the nature of the event, something unexpected happened. It became more inclusive, not less. It’s no longer a BroPicnic. It’s a gathering for anyone who loves the mountains and wants to celebrate the longest day of the year in the most spectacular setting on the planet.
Read more about Asit Rathod in the article “The Art of Detachment” published in Issue 156. Subscribe to read stories when they first go to print.
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