getting to bed so early, I didnít wake up until 8:30 the next
morning. I lay in the sleeping bag for some time, not wanting
to leave its comfort and warmth. Finally, I willed myself to get
up, let Muffin out to go to the bathroom, and started boiling
water on the stove for breakfast. The fuel was cold, and the stove
flared momentarily, then settled down to a steady blue flame.
The propane/butane mixture didnít fare well at this temperature,
and it took longer than usual to boil a pot of water.
the night, the weather had changed significantly. The sky was
no longer clear, replaced by an ominous gray pall. The wind had
picked up, whistling in the treetops and gusting up above in the
peaks. As of yet, no one had come by; we still had the mountain
to ourselves. But I had a decision to make. Should we continue
on to Mizpah Hut and Mt Jackson, or call it quits and get off
the mountain before the predicted sleet and freezing rain arrived
later in the day.
I decided to concede defeat and break camp. Not having an updated
forecast, I didnít know just when the bad weather would arrive.
For all I knew, it could start any minute. It was still at least
a four-hour round trip to Mt Jackson from where we were now, and
it already past 10 oíclock. (PS: I did make it to Mt
Jackson on another attempt the following February.)
in the tent on Saturday morning. The floor was a bit bumpy because
I didnít do a very good job of flattening down the area, but it
was livable. I cooked in the tentís vestibule, melting and boiling
snow to refresh our dwindling water supplies since there was no
spring nearby and the creeks were all frozen.