13 FEB 2001
By Joe Hartney
The second leg started off much as the first — the beautiful sunny days and
cold nights continued. We were "getting away with it" once again. We knew,
however, that it could not last forever, and eventually the weather changed
from sun to snow accompanied by Wyoming's famous wind.
These storms also
added to the instability of the snowpack, allowing us to witness much
avalanche activity and have some exciting moments. Sixty miles, less than
half the distance we had just traveled in the Winds (130 miles), would lead us back
to Jackson Hole in nine days.
"This is a good chance to try some of
the foul-weather gear we have been carting around with us."
Day 3: These first few days are a continued blessing weather-wise — clear skies, cold nights and very little wind. However, it seems there is a
storm on the horizon.
We are camped in the last stand of trees before the
open alpine country we hope to enter tomorrow. The wind has started, along
with snow flurries. We know this is an inevitable change, and we will have to
deal with what the weather gods pass our way. I feel that I have become
used to this lifestyle: eat, sleep, ski, eat, sleep, ski. The cold rarely
bothers me any longer and Win's "backcountry jukebox" keeps life in camp fun
even, though he sings horrible music.
Day 4: The wind today, on our first high mountain pass of this leg, blows at
around 40-50 miles per hour, but it is a warm 20 degrees. This is a good chance to try some of
the foul weather gear we have been carting around with us. We made it
through a small gap in Doubletop Peak by traversing between two cliff bands.
As if passing through the end of a maze, when we round the corner, the
storm breaks to a gorgeous sunny afternoon, revealing the terrain we just
crawled through.
We make camp early, around 3pm, among large boulders.
After climbing around these beautiful rocks for some fun, I have just enough
daylight left to go for a ski. A striking tongue of snow leads directly up
out of camp. I race up with an unbearable lightness of feeling—without
the heavy pack my body has become used to. The skiing is great as the
alpenglow sunset lights my way back to camp just in time for dinner. I'm glad to
have made some turns today.
Day 7: The storms continue. Progress has slowed to a crawl. We were happy
to make four miles today, breaking trail through heavy powder up to our
thighs at times. We are camped at the base of Island in the Sky, a large
plateau leading to our exit. About sixteen more miles and we should be out. We are
hoping for the weather to clear in the morning. It is snowing hard and is
very windy, even down low in the trees.
"Having my head out of the tent to cook feels like driving through a blizzard
without a windshield."
Day 8: Unfortunately, fair weather was not on the menu this morning. We
decide to go for it anyway. In the manual of common sense, climbing up
onto a featureless plateau is not recommended during a storm, but winter
storms can last for many days in the mountains, and we didn't feel like
waiting. Our decision seems more foolish the higher we climb. The small
avalanche I release reinforces this thought, but still we continue. The
terrain is on a small enough scale not to do any real damage, and we know
once we are up, it will be flat and safe (from slides at least).
At tree
line, the wind rages up to about 70mph with gusts high enough to knock me
down several times. Navigation consists of staring at the compass for four
miles and seeing only five feet in front of my skis. The weather never clears,
but we believe we are near the end and dig our tent into the deep snow.
Having my head out of the tent to cook feels like driving through a blizzard
without a windshield. Its fun being up in the storm, feeling its energy,
but I hope we can get down tomorrow.
Day 9: At 2:30am this morning, we get a break in the weather which
confirms our position— about eight miles out. We wait until sunrise to
start down. Another storm is coming right for us as we break camp in a
hurried manner. Luckily, we are able to find a scoured slope of rock and
ice to descend safely without danger of avalanche.
We make it down to the
trees just as the storm hits. We are down but not quite out. The last few
miles to the parking lot prove to be the hardest of the entire leg. The
snow turns completely rotten as the forest becomes intensely thick with
deadfall. Streams line our path. Crawling, falling, and cursing our
way through; it seems to go on for days. I hear things from my partner's
mouth that would appall a truck driver.
I feel myself getting into a crazed
state of thrashing like an angry animal. Just as darkness falls upon us, it is
over. We're back on the snowmobile road. At 6pm, we are three miles from the
parking lot where Dave is hopefully waiting with a warm car.
Skating down
the trail as fast as possible proves worth the effort as my friend's truck
comes into view. Not only is he still there after waiting an hour, but he brought
with him a first aid kit: a six pack of beer that didn't last the short
ride back to town. Just what the doctor ordered.
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