The Final Ridge
It lay before us, peeking through the rainy cloud cover. This was the last ridge between us and the extraction; it would literally be all down hill from there. After a day's rest, the two new student leaders quickly outlined the plan for the next few days. Our pick up was scheduled to be in three days.
We hoped to acquire the ridge and proceed down to where we would make our last major course change toward Canyon Lake. By now our gear had dried out, and we had rationed out food for nine more meals. As you might recall from my last post, we had been given information from another NOLS Mountaineering group who recommended that we descend the left side of the glacier; the storm had push us off to the right and we ended up father down the valley then we had hoped.
Our first task was to hike back up the valley then climb up to the ridge line. The group was moving quickly due to light packs, and more importantly, the excitement that we only had a couple days more of trekking. Two more days of sore feet; two more days of lukewarm food. The conversations of the past 24 hours had quickly turned to food porn and what each member was going to do when they got back to wherever was home.
No matter how high we climbed, there seemed to be more elevation to conquer. If I recall correctly, we gained over 2000 vertical feet in under five miles of hiking. The exposure was very high, and we were on dirt and loose rocks, not snow. Our boots became crude tools and were not very effective. In time, we got high enough where there was snow and the kick stepping began. At this point, my team supplied me with occasional encouragement, as well as constant non-verbal support, as they let me set my own pace up the snow the final resting point before the top of the ridge.
At the top, the sky cleared and I spotted our descent tracks from yesterday coming down from the Jubilee Saddle, winding to and fro before stopping at the campsite of the the longest day. Sitting on my pack, I pondered eating what little of the snack food I had left. I decided against it. If I was hungry now, I would be more so later.
I wish I had gotten my head up during journey. Most of the time was spent looking at my boots and judging rope management by the slack which I saw in my peripheral. Like a DVD on replay, my boots cyclically kicked into the snow, moving my skeleton slowly upward. Once the ridge was gained, the group engaged the clutch and put it into gear, heading downhill toward civilization.
Riding the Pig
After an hour or so, and a quick break and map check, we continued without being roped in with mild aggression at the ordeal marched on until the leaders stopped abruptly at the edge of a steep snow slope; a black ski run in angle and length. A discussion unfolded as to how to get down. Standing off to the side looking down the fall line, I wished madly for my ski, dreaming about how perfect it would be to just GO. Jorn set his pack down, opened it. He donned his rain pants, and tucked his jacket into the waist band. Next, he clipped his waist belt on his pack, then mounted it like a sled and made himself comfortable. "You son of a gun," I thought, looking at the him, then at the slope. I had seen this before and attempted this very thing earlier in the journey: riding the pig.
"Riding the pig" involves a steep slope, a large pack, and a willing rider. The pack is placed upside down and the rider holds onto the clipped waist belt and proceeds to sled on the overturned pack; which is exactly what Jorn, then Jeff, then Mandeep did. I was torn between two groups: proceed to join the group of students to try and hike down, or ride the pig; I settled for something in between, skiing down in my boots. It did not go how I envisioned it. At first, I assumed I would stay on my feet skiing down in my boots. I decided to have my ice ax in hand just in case something went wrong. The first couple of 'turns' went ok, then I caught an edge and went spinning down the slope.
Doing my best to not lose my cool, I kicked my feet downhill and planted my ice ax into the snow coming to a wet stop. Now I was in a bit of a pickle. I stopped about a third of the way down the slope just before the slope was at it's steepest and thought about my choices. Do I climb back up and try to walk down, or do I commit to a wet glissade down the remaining slope? The slope was so steep I was not going to be able to get into my rain pants to keep the snow out. But not only that, I had kept my pack on, before the brilliance of the moment 100 ft ago. Meaning I could not get out of it to ride the pack down, and its fifty-ish pounds on my back. Which means I really didn't have a choice. I had to ski, glissade, and slide my way to the bottom.
Okay then!!
When I arrived at the bottom of the slope, with my pants soaked, all three instructors were smiling and having an apparent good time as they watched the rest of the group do what I had done... only they hadn't intended to do what I did. I realized how funny I looked as I watched my fellow group members negotiate the slope. Not only that, but I had chosen the middle of the slope, right down the fall line, thus making everything that much harder for me, which explained why I arrived so quickly at the bottom.
The Last Ridge
After the entire group was down, we set off following the ridge line until we found a sheltered place to spend the night. One advantage of sleeping on the snow is that you can sleep on flat ground if you're willing to put in the time and chisel out a platform; our tent group slept well on the nice flat surface. The next day we packed up and scrambled up a steep, loose rock face. It took about an hour or so to gain the ridge. Once up the last up hill of the trip, the clouds started to come in. In the short time the instructors and the student leaders took our bearing, the clouds were upon us. Quickly tying into the ropes, the teams moved out.
Then it was white. Completely white. But we had our bearing, and off we trudged into the clouds with the compass alone to guide us. It was the weirdest thing to just wander along only being able to see twenty feet in any direction. I was completely by myself, only connected to my team with a 9mm dynamic rope. No sound. No wind. No color. Nothing.
Although it seemed like a lifetime, it was only a couple of hours before the fog lifted. We dropped below the cloud line to find ourselves right were he had hoped. As we were taking the ropes and harnesses off, it struck me that that was the last time we would use them. Into the pack they went for the last time.
A few more hours of trekking and we set up camp for the second to last time; the scenery was pristine. The sun was setting over the distant Pacific Ocean and the mountains where we had spent the last weeks looked like a dark blue and purple curtain behind us. The grass was green beneath my feet. With one more day to go, it was like living in a dream.
During dinner, my tent group split what was left of the food, saving half for tomorrow, when we would eat our last real meal of the trip. During CHAI that night there was a somberness to the atmosphere. It was almost over. The Instructors thought tomorrow's work would be over with in about five hours. After the meeting, I went back to the tent to finish reading a copy of The Martian, the book I had been carrying and reading on and off for the last week. Sincerely enjoying the ending when the astronaut is rescued, and trying to imagine what it felt like to be that alone I finished the book and drifted off into an easy sleep, thinking to myself that I would be home in three days.
Z
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