October 22, 1964
The fumes that emanate from Shasta’s lofty fumaroles are anything but agreeable at close quarters, unless you happen to relish the odor of broken eggs that have slipped over the borderline. But on Mt. Hood we encountered a stench that made Shasta’s foul breath seem like the delightful fragrance of Chanel No. 5 by comparison. Each of these otherwise wonderful peaks is cursed by a disgusting case of sulphurous halitosis that is…
