| |
I wouldn’t normally post this, but the Trip Reports Forum appears to have entered its end-of-season doldrums. We all know how Steve-o gets when we don’t provide a steady supply of grist for his mill. I’m sure that not a one of us wants to deal with a cranky Master of Ceremonies.
Tuesday afternoon. The weather forecast for the week is glorious. Those ever-watchful mountain gods will be keeping track; they get pissed if I ignore opportunities. I want, I want, I want to get out, but work is complicating things. What to do? Something close. Harvard looked fine from Columbia last week, but there was a decent dump of snow on Sunday. How can I squeeze it in? Hmmm, is that a nearly full moon I see rising? Well, it’s never been my goal to have HE GOT PLENTY OF SLEEP inscribed on my headstone.
7:00 PM. North Cottonwood Creek trailhead. I start just as a headlamp becomes useful. There are a few hunters around and horseshoe prints in the snow. I don’t recall ever seeing a horse on this trail. It’s clear and cold but calm; a winter-weight polypro is enough. I stroll along and take the Horn Fork Basin trail at the Kroenke Lake junction. Snow cover is spotty for a ways, steadier by treeline.
In the open, that moon has full effect; I can often do without the headlamp. 1953. Patti Page. A few of you may remember. I was a bit too young myself. “By the light of the silvery moon … Honey moon, keep a-shinin’ in June …”. In any case, the evening and the setting are exquisite. A gentle breeze arises from time to time. Occasional drifts require some work and I have to pay attention to stay on route. Ah, yes, there’s the spot where Jean once tried to murder Dwight.
The dip above 13,000’ is the beginning of deeper snow. I break trail to the South Ridge; the final 800-900’ above always seem to take longer than they should. I get bogged down in breakable-crust, shin-abusing snowfields. Yep, slow going. But the wind remains remarkably absent; I’ll take it. The summit block. As in the past, it feels more interesting than class 2 when the slabs are snowed-up. I kick steps, cache poles below the last 20’, and pop onto the summit.
Can you imagine this? Dead calm at 14,420’. The basin and peaks are moonlit magic. Photos would be nice, but I’m strictly an amateur and suspect that a tripod and long exposure would be required. I sit on my pack and snack for 15 minutes. Glad I started with boiling-hot Gatorade; it goes down easy now. Time to head for bed.
I ooze down for a bit, then try to cruise on complaining knees. Can’t do it; slow down Ken. On lower-angle terrain, I get into a mile-eating rhythm. Familiar scenes pass in their turn. At 3:25 AM, I regain the truck. That was very nice, slower than expected, but very nice. Of all the humans that have ever been born, where do I place on the good life scale? I look forward to regular tussles with those mountain gods, but offer them many thanks for this one. |
|