It’s not 100% funny yet, there are still a bunch of embarrassing moments and regrets mixed in, but in a few weeks/months it’ll be a stupid story from my 20’s when I was still a 5-year-old on the inside. Don’t take candy from strangers, don’t let someone else bring you your drink at a bar, blah blah blah. We’ll get to the fun part in a bit. Karma bit me in the ass on this one.
- Distance: 10 miles round trip
- Elevation: 4500ft agin, 5700ft highest point
- Weather: Single digits overnight, maybe teens during the day. Sunny, cloudy, snow showers.
- Commute from Seattle: ~2.5 hours with no traffic
- Did I Trip: Oh boy
Plans came together Friday evening. Originally we were thinking of checking out the Enchantments, but last minute we settled on Little Devil Peak. Tony joined our plans around 9pm, assuming he’d follow our skin track and catch up to us at camp. We left around 5am Saturday, stopped off for coffee and breakfast and climbing permits (which I left at the car anyway, so you could argue that was a pointless detour), and started the drive up Cascade River Road, which is allegedly plowed to mile 7.
Aaand we were right! We waved Tony down and hitched a ride to the trailhead, where we started up with skis on our backs. I almost wish I hadn’t been up here before, because I only remembered two landmarks and of course both were like 2,500ft of gain up the trail so every switchback was a reminder of how far we still had to go. I found a piece of candy on the trail (woohoo, free snacks!) and stashed it in my pocket. We finally broke out into the clearing I remembered from last time, where we re-entered the forest and started to boot straight up once we lost the snowshoer trail. We hoofed it for a while as Tony skinned a more mellow route, keeping within earshot (whistles and various signature whoops), and met up just below a second clearing where we were officially starting to skin.
We had a quick snack break where I decided to have kimchi pancakes leftover from Amber’s Korean feast the prior night and that candy I had found. Which was gross, like a combo of licorice and a cough drop but it looked like a lozenge so cough drop taste made sense. We took off up the icy drainage, fighting through trees (but actually, too steep and dense for skins but you could drag yourself up by pulling and pushing on trees and toning your triceps) and dragging snow-caked skins (picture 10lb weights on each ankle) through the shitty slush followed by shitty powder as we zigzagged in and out of sunshine and shade. Take five steps, try to smack snow off the skins. Another five steps, smack snow. Another five steps, cry a little bit. Another five steps, smack snow and fall over streaming profanity into the powder and lie there in defeat only to find JT taking a break 15ft away when you assumed he was a mile ahead laughing at your plight from above in the distance.
I flopped down next to JT. I couldn’t figure out why I was so spacey and wow my mouth was amazingly dry. I changed into thick gloves and remarked on how cold it was, my fingers were sharply painful and suddenly numb, it must be single digits! I was smacking my lips when I noticed my heart rate still elevated and a mild anxiety about everything we were doing. My vision lagged, I’d move my eyes and the scenery would drag behind. I looked up at JT mid sentence. Life in slow-mo, cotton mouth, shitty circulation, mild anxiety? My life is pretty vanilla, but I remembered this from college. Only one thing has given me those symptoms. “Oh my god. JT. The candy wasn’t candy.”
We crested the ridge and I could see the lake. But the slopes to the lake. Oh my god. A million things ran through my head.
- The hills – they’re so steep (they were not)
- Who LEFT this there this is ILLEGAL (no, it’s not, you live in Washington)
- Are these good views or is it just my eyes? (both)
- Can I ski down on my skins? (no)
- Can I ski down in downhill mode? [world spins and up is down and i’m covered in powder] (…no)
- Can I boot it? Hmm. Yes. Feet are good. This is good.
- Every slope will avalanche if I step right there (false)
- Has it actually been two hours, or has it been 15 minutes and it feels like two hours? (2 hours)
- Have I moved? (debatable)
- Is JT ahead of me still?? (yes)
- Where’s Tony DID WE LOSE TONY OH NO (we did not)
- DID WE LOSE ME WHAT IF THEY WENT SOMEWHERE ELSE AND I JUST FORGOT AND NOW I’M ALONE AND shut up and follow the tracks ya dingus
We got to the lake and I flopped on down on my pack. Do we continue to the ridge, or camp here? I stared into space for 45 minutes. “You’re the high one, you decide.” I’m sorry, that’s backwards. High people can’t make decisions. “Come on, stoner cat.” Let’s go to the ridge. No, let’s camp here. Yeah, camp here. JT started to set up his tent. I handed him the first set of poles, point first. Hmm, the second set must have to go feet first. I turned it around and bent it so the feet would be the width of the door. Almost there aaaand…. SNAP!
I woke up to Tony and JT talking. I could hear them and wanted to laugh and say things back but that involved blowing air past my vocal chords which sounded like such a chore, I’d rather just meld into this sleeping bag and become on with the fluff and drift off like a piece of a cloud. Eventually I was somewhat munchy so I had cheez its (amaaaaaazing) and dinner. And passed out again.
The first run down was phenomenal fluffy powder. JT went first, then Tony, then me. We’re whooping and grinning and suddenly JT yells “watch out for the-” “CRRRRRSSSSKKKKKKK” “-crust…” as Tony skidded to a stop on sheer ice. Only the shaded snow was fluffy, anything that had been touched by the sun was no fun. We did a few laps before packing up camp and starting to skin out. Getting up and over the ridge was brutal because anything involving using my edges resulted in me popping out of my bindings and the ski sliding back down the ice until I caught up to it, but skiing down the other side of the ridge (especially in one fluffy gully) was spectacular. Going back down the veggie belay/tree climbing drainage was brutal, I booted it for about 4 steps before putting the skis back on because survival skiing was the lesser of the two evils.
The survival ski continued back to the boot pack we made on the way up where the trail enters that first clearing. We crashed through trees, skiied over some dead branches and rocks, kept in touch by shouting “marco!?” “polo!” and the usual “whoop whoop” [whistle] “woo!” I caught up to JT. “I… I got into a bad situation.” The look on his face wasn’t good. I was trying to think if he was stuck on a bad slope or had a bad gear issue but no, we were never anywhere like that. “Look at the back of my pack.”
We booted straight downhill until there was not enough snow left to cut switchbacks efficiently. I muscled through a downed tree only to lose my ski strap a few switchbacks later, but at that moment I didn’t care enough to walk back up to look for it. We popped out back at the car followed shortly by Tony, who found the ski strap! Woohoo!
Did I trip? Ha! Good for Tony and JT for taking care of you.
Yeah, Magic Kitchen could have been a clue. Definitely a lesson we can all learn from! Somehow, this doesn’t make backcountry skiing appealing but I do love your stories. 🙂
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