erugs
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Whiteman called it on the nose when he wrote about conditions on his hike to Carter Dome and Hight in Trail Conditions for March 15. I wouldn’t have added more here except for some important information.
Like Whiteman, Brian and I hiked in on the Nineteen Mile Brook Trail to Carter Dome Trail to Zeta Pass. Then, while he had gone directly over to Carter Dome, then back via Hight, we hiked up to Mt. Hight first, before heading over to Carter Dome. At Zeta Pass we met a man who said he’d somehow missed the cut-off to Hight. He said he also hadn’t found the trail sign for the Black Angel Trail and surmised they both were under the snow cover. Whiteman said the cut off had not been easy to see. Indeed, when we hit the cut-off trail again we saw no signage. We’re fairly certain we found the Black Angel Trail signpost, but all that we could see was a tip-top bit of the post. Any sign on the post was well under the snow pack, so we couldn’t confirm.
Looking back to Hight, we commented on how quickly that part of the trip was over. We thought we saw two people on the summit and joked that maybe it was ourselves.
From Carter Dome we reluctantly left the amazing views of the day behind and descended the Carter-Moriah Trail towards the hut with our thoughts turning towards having some hot chocolate there and tuning into our iPods for the walk out.
We were in the midst of the steep section when my feet went out from under me and I slid. If my first slide was twenty feet long, the second slide was at least three times that and faster. We were both wearing Microspikes and were being very careful, yet a careless accident sent me careening.
It’s amazing how time flies and stands still at the same time.
Whoosh, swish, whiz, the loose snow rooster-tailed around me. The trees stood still as I sailed by.
“Watch out for these rocks” called Brian as I bumped over them.
In my mind, I’m thinking:
Oh, darn, I've lost my footing again…
I was being so careful…
Oh, I’m picking up speed…
Er, this is getting scarey…
Hey, Brian, there you are…
You’re looking worried…
You were ahead but now I’m burning past you faster than a speeding bullet…
Rocks? Thanks, I see ‘em but that seems the last of my worries…
I’m ricocheting and rocketing, hurtling head first, towards who knows where…
Maybe off the edge into the Ramparts…
Turn around, head feet first...
Try to dig your feet in like an anchor to slow the pace, ease the impact...
Going faster…
Grab that thin tree – there it goes, too late, think quicker…
This isn’t going to be good…
Going even faster now…
Be calm, listen for the Inner Voice for guidance…
Avoid that tree, you’ll break your hip…
Or leg…
Or foot…
Get on your belly and dig in, like we were taught on Rainier…
Can’t, pack’s too heavy and awkward…
No ice axe here, either…
Poles are back up there, glad I didn't have my hands in any loops...
Try turning sideways, back first so the pack hits first and adds padding.
Whoosh. Air. Softness. Thump. Silence. Stillness.
“Ellen! Ellen!” my name being called from a distance.
“Brian!”
I’ve stopped. I think I’m okay.
The rest of the trip was fun and fine and today I'm back at my office with renewed gratitude.
Like Whiteman, Brian and I hiked in on the Nineteen Mile Brook Trail to Carter Dome Trail to Zeta Pass. Then, while he had gone directly over to Carter Dome, then back via Hight, we hiked up to Mt. Hight first, before heading over to Carter Dome. At Zeta Pass we met a man who said he’d somehow missed the cut-off to Hight. He said he also hadn’t found the trail sign for the Black Angel Trail and surmised they both were under the snow cover. Whiteman said the cut off had not been easy to see. Indeed, when we hit the cut-off trail again we saw no signage. We’re fairly certain we found the Black Angel Trail signpost, but all that we could see was a tip-top bit of the post. Any sign on the post was well under the snow pack, so we couldn’t confirm.
Looking back to Hight, we commented on how quickly that part of the trip was over. We thought we saw two people on the summit and joked that maybe it was ourselves.
From Carter Dome we reluctantly left the amazing views of the day behind and descended the Carter-Moriah Trail towards the hut with our thoughts turning towards having some hot chocolate there and tuning into our iPods for the walk out.
We were in the midst of the steep section when my feet went out from under me and I slid. If my first slide was twenty feet long, the second slide was at least three times that and faster. We were both wearing Microspikes and were being very careful, yet a careless accident sent me careening.
It’s amazing how time flies and stands still at the same time.
Whoosh, swish, whiz, the loose snow rooster-tailed around me. The trees stood still as I sailed by.
“Watch out for these rocks” called Brian as I bumped over them.
In my mind, I’m thinking:
Oh, darn, I've lost my footing again…
I was being so careful…
Oh, I’m picking up speed…
Er, this is getting scarey…
Hey, Brian, there you are…
You’re looking worried…
You were ahead but now I’m burning past you faster than a speeding bullet…
Rocks? Thanks, I see ‘em but that seems the last of my worries…
I’m ricocheting and rocketing, hurtling head first, towards who knows where…
Maybe off the edge into the Ramparts…
Turn around, head feet first...
Try to dig your feet in like an anchor to slow the pace, ease the impact...
Going faster…
Grab that thin tree – there it goes, too late, think quicker…
This isn’t going to be good…
Going even faster now…
Be calm, listen for the Inner Voice for guidance…
Avoid that tree, you’ll break your hip…
Or leg…
Or foot…
Get on your belly and dig in, like we were taught on Rainier…
Can’t, pack’s too heavy and awkward…
No ice axe here, either…
Poles are back up there, glad I didn't have my hands in any loops...
Try turning sideways, back first so the pack hits first and adds padding.
Whoosh. Air. Softness. Thump. Silence. Stillness.
“Ellen! Ellen!” my name being called from a distance.
“Brian!”
I’ve stopped. I think I’m okay.
The rest of the trip was fun and fine and today I'm back at my office with renewed gratitude.
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