"As long as no one is injured, I can't see why they wouldn't make it out. I want everyone to know there is hope."
Although no one has been able to offer specifics, the general theory among rescuers is that James, a landscaper from Dallas, is injured. He made a call to his son, Jason, last Sunday that suggested the climber was "fuzzy" and in distress, said Frank James.
Based on that call, rescuers believe James is somewhere between 10,000 and 11,000 feet (305 and 335 meters).
Many hope Hall and Cooke are with him, though they may have left the cave to descend for help. No one has heard from any of them since Sunday.
Rescuers were reluctant to speculate on what condition the climbers might be in—or even if they are still alive.
The rescue plan calls for members of the 304th Air Force Reserve—a combat rescue unit based in Portland—to fly helicopters to the summit. Meanwhile climbers from area clubs would mount "an assault from all directions" to reach the stranded climbers. At the same time heat-sensor-equipped C-130 cargo planes from the Nevada Air National Guard would scan the peak for signs of warm bodies against frigid snow.
With the storm raging overhead on Saturday, though, neither hikers nor pilots were able to penetrate the "brick wall" of weather at 8,500 feet (2,600 meters). Instead, rescuers combed a massive area around the mountain's wooded, lower slopes.
In the Rescuers' Mountainside Cabin
On Thursday—as on every day since the rescue began shortly after James's phone call—tanklike Sno-Cat vehicles shuttled gear and people 9 miles (15 kilometers) up a service road to the Cloud Cap shelter, a wood cabin with high ceilings, a fireplace, and scores of hangers draped with wet socks, boots, and pants.
The cabin, built in the late 1880s and perched among firs at about 6,000 feet (1,830 meters), has been the main staging ground for the rescue effort. (Read an interview with a rescuer from 2002's high-visibility, helicopter-smashing climbing disaster on Mount Hood.
On clear days visitors can look up the mountain along the Cooper Spur, a ridge that tumbles from the peak's northeast flank and one of the more impressive routes to the summit.
According to a note the climbers left at a nearby ranger station, the three may have attempted one of the steep gorges that stream down from the peak just north the Cooper Spur.
That ridge would be the most likely way to come down, should something go wrong on the more technical routes the team was attempting.
At twilight, teams of climbers poured back from fruitless searches and as technicians fiddled with unmanned flying drones armed with heat-seeking equipment. The drones have made a few flights, with mixed results; climbers on skis and snowshoes have covered the most ground.
As they returned through the heavy wooden door, climbers stripped off sopping wet gear and wiped frozen hands over wind-lashed faces.
Although the mood remained upbeat and positive, it was clear from their faces that climbing under such conditions is brutal at best, if not extremely dangerous. A fall from the Cooper Spur could send a climber pinwheeling thousands of feet down to the crevasses that riddle Eliot Glacier below.
Battling such conditions was the least Ernest Mendez said he could do.
Mendez, quiet and humble, is one of Brian Hall's friends who made the trip up from Colorado to look for his friend.
"These guys literally get blown over and stand right back up," Mendez said of the rescuers. "It's overwhelming how much they're willing to do."
Behind him read a sign sent up by family members that called the rescuers "rock stars."
But not even superhuman efforts could improve the situation.
By Friday the weather had turned worse, with wind expected to top 130 miles an hour (230 kilometers an hour) up high and more than a foot (30 centimeters) of snow falling at 4,000 feet (1,220 meters).
Officials did not mount any rescue attempts from the Cloud Cap cabin on Friday, although a small team of climbers stayed up high in case of a break.
Instead, members of the 304th flew back to Portland to "reset" and do refresher sessions on hoisting techniques from helicopters.
"We've done everything we can do, given this weather," Capt. Ross Willson, director of operations for the 304th, told about a dozen rescuers. "Let's hope it improves."
Today, Sunday, the weather has improved, and with it the hopes of the many rescuers, friends, and family waiting in the shadow of Mount Hood.
Look for Tim Neville's full, in-depth coverage of the Mount Hood rescue in an upcoming issue of National Geographic Adventure magazine. Subscribe to Adventure.
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