LOOKING BACK

by Mathew Brock, Director of Special Collections and Media

Welcome to “Looking Back,” an occasional column that delves into the rich history of the Mazamas. As your guide through the annals of time, we’ll embark on a journey back to revisit the remarkable events, happenings, and adventures that have shaped the organization’s legacy. From awe-inspiring mountaineering triumphs to community milestones, this column serves as a nostalgic look back at the moments that have shaped the Mazamas.

110 years ago (1915):

First Ascent of Rooster Rock

Rising 320 feet above the Columbia River near Bridal Veil, Oregon, Rooster Rock stood as an imposing challenge to early climbers. Its lower slopes, deceptively gentle with soft earth and grass, gave way to an almost vertical rock face that seemed to defy human ability. For years, local climbers viewed the monolith with a mixture of respect and desire, their only reference point being the story of a sailor who had managed to reach the top but became stranded, requiring rescue by rope from below.

All that changed on April 15, 1915, when Thomas “Ray” Conway, a recentlyjoined member of the Mazamas, set his sights on the rock formation. Conway, although small in stature, possessed extraordinary climbing abilities and an unwavering determination. In a display of remarkable skill and courage, he scaled the rock’s treacherous face in just 21 minutes, completing both the ascent and descent without the use of ropes—a feat that would become legendary in Pacific Northwest climbing circles.

Conway was not content to keep the achievement to himself. By September of that year, he had organized an official Mazama climb. The planning demonstrated his methodical approach to safety and leadership, even placing a register on the summit the week before the climb. On the morning of the official climb, while 70 eager Mazamas waited at the base, Conway and two assistants ascended first to prepare the route by strategically placing ropes.

The climb itself, as documented by participant Margaret Griffin, was a study in progressive challenges. After struggling up the initial soft earth section, climbers reached what became known as the “plateau of decision”—a narrow shelf where, as Griffin noted, participants could “conveniently pause and decide whether to persevere or turn back.” Beyond this point, the true test began.

The route demanded increasingly bold moves. Climbers first had to navigate a section with widely spaced but solid handholds, all while trying to ignore the 200-foot drop below. The crux of the climb centered around a massive boulder that required an intimate embrace of the rock. Climbers had to place one foot in a precise crevice, wrap their arms around the boulder, and swing their other foot around to safety—all while suspended hundreds of feet above the ground.

The final pitch proved equally challenging, following the exposed ridge where loose rocks demanded careful testing of each step. As Griffin noted, “The only encouraging thing about this part of the climb is that it ends it.” Nine climbers ultimately reached the summit that day, each signing the register and celebrating their achievement with Conway’s playful verse: “Rainier’s fourteen and Hood’s eleven, but Rooster Rock is nearer heaven.”

Conway’s safety measures for the group climb were comprehensive. Fixed ropes secured to the rock provided aid at critical points, though they were used primarily for balance rather than artificial assistance. Life belts attached to ropes held by Conway on the summit provided an additional layer of security, serving more as psychological comfort than physical necessity. As Griffin noted, “Nothing was left undone to ensure the safety of the climbers.”

The successful group ascent of Rooster Rock marked a significant moment in Pacific Northwest climbing history. While Conway would go on to achieve many other mountaineering firsts, his first ascent of Rooster Rock—both solo and as a leader— demonstrated the possibilities that lay within seemingly impossible challenges. The climb established new standards for both technical difficulty and safety protocols in Northwest mountaineering. And Conway’s willingness to share his achievement helped transform an isolated feat into a celebrated chapter in Mazama and Oregon climbing history.