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At
around 3500 feet, I stopped for another rest and a power bar.
Before I was done, I was startled by a noise on the trail below
me. Suddenly, two guys, who were probably about my age or a little
older, appeared from around the bend. They were the first people
I'd seen since starting out on the hike. They were also hiking
bare-booted, but with snowshoes strapped to their backpacks. We
exchanged greetings and talked about how nice and packed the trail
was, then they were on their way.
A
moment later, three other hikers – a man and two women –
passed by. They were also carrying snowshoes. We exchanged a few
greetings, and they were quickly off. After finishing my snack,
I too continued up the trail, slowly climbing closer to my goal.
At
around 3900 feet, as the trees were beginning to get shorter,
I caught a glimpse of the summit ahead. It still seemed
like a million miles away, but I knew from experience that it
was closer than it appeared to be. The trail veered to the left
and came out onto a flat fairly open area with great views down
toward the northwest. The terrain ahead was dotted with the scrawny
tops of stunted krummholz poking out of the deep snow. The blazes
along the trail had disappeared, and the well-worn packed snow
of the trail gave way to a less obvious route.
But
the tracks of the groups ahead of me were unmistakable. I followed
them, expecting to spot the summit cone at any minute. The route
wound around to the right, dodging between the miniature trees.
It didn't seem like a very obvious path, but the tracks continued
on and so did I. Suddenly, while trying to step carefully around
the stiff branches of a spruce tree, my right leg plunged deeply
into the snow. Struggling to free myself, I hoped there wouldn't
be too much more postholing, or especially any deep spruce traps.
But
such was not to be. A few steps later, I went in again, this time
all the way to my waist. I wished I rented the snowshoes at the
Crawford Hostel. Abruptly, the snowshoe tracks came to a halt.
I tried to discern where they went from here, searching for any
signs of drifted over prints. Ten minutes later, I gave up and
turned around, certain that they had done the same and that all
of us had failed to locate the correct path.
A
short distance beyond my first posthole, where the tracks back
downhill veered off to the left, I began hunting for any signs
of another route. Just as I thought I might have to give up, I
thought I saw some faint tracks bearing to the right. Taking a
chance, I explored in that direction, and it was soon obvious
that I was correct, so I started following this new set of winding
snowshoe prints through the top of the krummholz and up a steep
embankment. Finally, after several more postholes, I saw the two
I had met earlier coming toward me. They had been to the summit
and back, bushwhacking a usable route through the alpine terrain.
Acknowledging that they had also turned around at the dead end
I had encountered, they described the trail ahead, warning me
to follow their path to the left, and not take another false bushwack
toward the right up ahead. They also cautioned that I'd probably
posthole some more before I came to the final stretch up the icy
rock of the summit cone, where my crampons would be essential.
I innocently told them that I'd done a bit of postholing already,
figuring that it couldn't be any worse than what I had already
gone through. |
