With all the sad thoughts.... here's a moment from the past with a happy ending and a lesson learned...


Early March 2013

.....I was extremely wiped when I wrote down my reply to an inquiry wondering if I survived my 38 hr ski tour of the Enchantment Lakes.

.....Yes, I'm still alive. I'm glad you decided to not go in the end, for I would have felt guilty for suggesting it. I knew the path I would have to take would be in the way of avalanche danger, but I had not known the degree at which it would have been. I watched the weather and temperature for a weeks time and decided it was the optimal weekend to attempt the tour from snow creek through to the eight mile trailhead. I crossed many steep slopes in precarious positions, but usually at the high point of where things would calve off. This took time to plan for safe travel. And then, there were the few steep slopes that involved a direct and fully committed assault with no recourse, should I be in the wrong place at that particular moment.

My body is swollen and sore. My feet are numb from the travels. I arrived at the snow creek trailhead somewhere around midnight. The night's sky was star lit and the air was crisp. The moon's position was such that travel was made easy through the low lying forested sections of the trail past snow creek wall without additional light. So, I chose such travel by moonlight to slight the dangers of this way that I had heard of in the past. I made quick time through devastated terrain.
It was not what I remembered of the place, where we had together once been a few summers past. The hill sides were laid waste by fire and mass slides. Trees were torn apart and hewn, and splintered about every steep. The devastation made for an impressive scene by any standard. Skis made travel quick, and a couple miles were covered in good time. Camp was made at the first opportunity of safe haven in a remaining oasis of protected and hearty trees within the creek drainage.
The night was cold and sleep was fitful. Tea and a meal returned energy, and I pushed on casually as the sun crested the eastern escarpment in the morning. Many lakes were crossed, and I was of witness to things I think few have seen in these conditions. No sign of human was found beyond the snow creek wall until down from Asgard pass. But the mention of this moment in time, precedes the happenings of the most critical of events in my journey. I did not break for some time and decided to ski to the base of Prussik for the conclusion of the day. It was only fatigue that inspired me to rest and pause for lunch.
I did not take the time, but was on the move for perhaps six hours and yet had not caught sight of my destination for the day. I drank pots of tea and water to rehydrate and ate a full meal. I would have stopped for the evening as the position was perfect for a magnificent sunrise come morning, but the remaining daylight beckoned me onward, and upward. Finding the efficient way through terrain in which I was unfamiliar was challenging amongst the many hilly and mountainous peaks. But, snow covered terrain provided for the cutting of passages from the usual beaten path to a more efficient and direct line.
The first lake caught me weary and untrusting. I did not venture far from it's shoreline, should signs of the unthinkable come to pass. After the first crossing, the fear of breaking through did remain, but direct lines were cut across the lakes I would encounter next. Only once did I hear that fateful noise of splintering and violent snapping. But, expeditiously did I reverse my course and gain solid ground. This was the place I had chosen to rest for dinner. Eager for rest, I continued through the ever changing and incredible views. Many steep slopes were challenged, and, upon a few I was committed entirely to fate. The steepest section of the tour provided the most difficult for route finding. If avalanche was possible this day, I would not be here to write this. And, it was in this place where I was glad to be unaccompanied; that you had chosen more responsible commitments to tend to. I shall not go into detail, but all went well. The continuous surge of worry that this time in my journey provided for only enhanced the ever-changing views I did partake in.
At every fought for rest, I did not forget to look up and look around. This was a magnificent place. I made my way until just beneath the south face of Prusik. Camp was made on top a small wind protected hill, and rest made me content.
As my mind began to drift, warm in my bivy, an odd sense of urgency caught me and it was not until I began to pull the events together did I begin to panic.

I have never before been more disappointed in myself.

It started with a slight chill.

I disregarded this sensation as the passing of the sun, but still thought it was odd. After ten minutes or so of drifting in and out of sleep, aroused by this unnatural shiver, did panic strike as I realized what I had done.
My bottle had frozen to some degree to prevent me from closing it securely. I placed it in the crook of my arm upright to thaw the lid, so it could be secured for the evening in the warmth of the bag. Fatigue caught me and I dozed. My natural tendency to pitch leftward in sleep pitched the bottle off end and its contents down my left flank.

Nearly the whole of the litter emptied into my bivy soaking everything I had; my down bag, all my clothes, and the liners of my ski boots. As I remarked before, at the revelation of what I had done to my self, a deep and near tearful memory of self castigation and disappointment overwhelmed me in this moment. I tore myself from my enclosure and discarded all my clothes in the -10 C, rubbing the moisture off in the snow, slighting the bitter cold to dry what I could. I violently shook out my down bag and the bivy to remove all standing water that had yet to be soaked in.

I knew no fire could be started, as I had tried when I first arrived in an attempt to provide myself with luxury, but now wished it for survival. I tore pine boughs from the trees and piled them beneath and around me hoping for greater insulation from the desperate night I knew I had ahead of me.
I awaited the pain and torment of the long night to come. I curled into a ball with the remaining dry down to the open air and my Gore-Tex beneath me to pad me from the wetted materials against the meager pad I had brought for sleeping on.

My choice of spots could not have been better. The sunrise was a moving sight. It first burned through the ice that had formed within my enclosure, causing a steam of sorts within my shelter. The arrival of new warmth allowed me to relax to some degree as I knew the worst was behind me.
That when I started moving, if I kept moving, I would make it out of the wilderness and to dry clothes, beer, and a proper meal. I did not fully rouse myself for some time, as the light of the sun thawed at my bones and melted the ice from my belongings. Once able to move, I did as I planned and did not stop. Volumes of tea were made and consumed and a large quantity of oatmeal was made and forcefully choked down.

I donned wet socks and boots, and made haste. I reached Asgard in more time than was anticipated. My mood was tainted and movement was difficult. I was weak and beaten. And, as I crested the pass, I found my troubles had not yet peaked.
On top of Asgard I found not the wind and sun protected powder stash I had hoped for, but barren wind swept boulders and hard crusted runnels between them. My predicted quick and easy exodus made a turn for the worse.
Skiing the upper section was not possible as a fall here would be not resolvable, and would surely yield a thousand of feet or horrid tumbling to a very certain end. My 10 minute ski decent of Asgard, turned into an hour long and nervous kicking of steps, as I had decided to forgo the additional weight of the aluminum crampons still in the trunk of my car. At half its height, the slope regaled pity upon me and gave me what I came all this way for. The runnels turned from crusted ice, and sometimes water ice, to consolidated powder.

Now skiable, the remaining 500 meters of the descent turned the tide of the day. I removed my pack on the first flat I came to don my skis. At this moment two tiny figures came into view carving turns on the Colchuck glacier north of my position. My mood, at the site of these two, changed for the better. For, if I could catch up with the party, I could hitch a ride and forgo the additional miles of walking along icicle creek road to return to my car.

Disappointment stuck yet again. As I snapped into my skis and reached down to lock my boots for the descent, I found the fragile locking mechanisms of both boots to be damaged from the toil of tedious down climbing I had just endured. I forced the locks into position after some engineering, one minus the rivets that secured it in place, and hoped they did not come undone.

Two traverses were cut across the steepest section of the slope to temp the Great Mother. A pause for certainty, I then aimed downward making large high speed arcs for the tree line, and toward the little spot on the lake that were the two who would surely save me the additional two hours of road walking to return to the car.

I emerged from the trees, and was greeted with, "Holy sh#t man, did you just come over that!?"

I replied, "Yes. If I can keep up, would you mind giving me a ride to the snow creek trailhead?" I was short for words and clearly in discomfort.

We packed up and donned skins, and I recounted my night as we crossed the last lake. It was still hours before we reached the car, but I was nearing the comfort of the heater in my car and dry clothes, and such was in good spirits.
The way out was incredibly fun, but probably the most dangerous of the events of the weekend. I had now lost all inhibition to the idea of danger, and only wished for the security of my car at Snow Creek. After crossing the lake and ascending the last slope to gain the trail proper, we removed our skins and decided on a direct descent to the Stuart lake trail crossing. This involved tight high speed tree skiing with lots of snow covered tree and cliff hucking.
After reaching the Stuart lakes trail crossing we set our skis in the packed in snow shoe "course." (We referred to it as "the course" as it was reminiscent of a bobsled track). Weaving through trees and iced over, we were set in deep tracks and had no control of speed as we set down the beat in trail. We had only hope that we could physically turn well enough to stay within the course and not be cast out into the thick of the trees. And, when we were cast out of the course, it seemed to be at the same spots for the leader as it were for the follower, and we were all three very lucky that not a tree or large rock was ever in the crash areas.

We did learn though that the leader should get to their feet quickly and out of the way as the following two would not be far behind, and too would be soon recklessly out of control with aim in the same landing zone.
Incredible haste was made, as my two companions had had a long day as well, already 14 hours on the go. We emerged from the trees at the eight mile trailhead and scoured at the long ski and pack we still had ahead of us.

Darkness consumed us. We arrived at their car at 9PM Sunday evening. I fell asleep sitting on my pack upright as they changed out of their wet clothes and packed their camp.

I did not care anymore. We filled the small car with gear and they brought me to my car the last few miles down the icicle creek road. I was ever grateful and we decided beer was in order, but as it was late we could not find one place in town still open for business. We bid each other farewell and I did not make it home until 4AM Monday morning. I did not give the heater in the car the slightest of break as it was on full the whole time until I had returned to my meager apartment and to the comfort of a proper rest in a warm bed.