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My
face, being the only part of me not completely covered, was beginning
to feel a bit numb, so I didn’t stay long. After a moment’s hesitation,
I located the route I had come up, then started down, being careful
that my crampons bit firmly into the ice, and keeping a low profile
so the wind didn’t blow me off my feet.
Soon
I was back in the relative shelter of the krummholz. I began working
my way back through the soft snow, trying to pick my way along
between the postholes. Several times, I broke through the surface
again, and ended up crawling part of the way. After I got back
to the area that I had first followed the dead-end trail, I wasn’t
sure which way led out. For a moment, I panicked. I pictured myself
wandering around in this sea of postholes, alternately plunging
into spruce traps and then crawling back out, until my energy
completely gave out. None of the potential false paths looked
completely familiar. But going on instinct, I chose a way that,
although it didn’t seem quite as obvious as the other paths, felt
like it was headed in the right direction.
I
became more encouraged as the path grew firmer with each few steps.
Soon, it was unmistakable as trail began to take on that plowed
look again. Finally, back among six-foot high trees again, I stopped
for a well-deserved rest.
On
the way down, I tried out the sled, leaving it strapped to my
pack and then sitting on top of the pack, trying to steer both
with my feet out in front of me and by using the pick of my ice
axe as a rudder. But where the trail was steep, the sled was difficult
to control, and where the trail leveled out, the sled stopped.
It was easier to just carry it down on my back. |
Self-portrait
after reaching below-treeline shelter once again. Not only was
my hair frozen, but my eyelids and eyebrows were frosted up also.
After my struggle back through the spruce-trap and posthole obstacle
course, I was glad to be back on solid ground again. Compare this
picture with how dry
and frost-free I looked when I was still on my way up. |
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