Just another Saturday in the Mountains

Stumbling and crawling through icy water in my ski boots was not exactly how I envisioned my Saturday to go.  I wanted to get lots of miles in, either on skis or on foot, or both.  My running/ski buddies all got up super early and I missed out on a Little Dell  to Big Mtn run and a Kessler East Couloir ski tour.  So around 10 am I was on my way up the Great Western Trail from Fernwood in Layton with my skis on my back.  I figured it would be tracked out a lot of the way and then I would throw the skis on.  A fresh dusting of snow made the crusty trail a lot nicer. It also allowed for visibility of all all the night time creatures. (Small rabbit, larger rabbit, and a cat print a lot bigger than the rabbit prints...)

 The last boot holes ended, with a smiley face drawn in the snow, at around 7500 feet where I doffed the Sportiva Evo hiking boots and donned the Scarpa Maestrale ski boots and BD skis.  It was fun cruising up the fresh powder.  Right near the top a storm moved in and visibility went to 20 yards.  I somehow managed to make my way to the Chinscraper bowl by sensing the feel of the land. I felt like I was in a haunted winter wonderland as I moved through the snow crusted pines.  The cornice at the top was tricky, but with a little sweat I pulled on to the ridge.  I continued south hugging the ridge in the white-out conditions.  Several times I found myself on false summits overlooking monster cliffs, before I crested onto a hill and saw the Thurston summit plaque.  

The wind was blowing so hard that my hands instantly froze as I snapped some photos and pulled out some icy jerky to gnaw on. I started to ski down and south but got snarled in a maze of boulders, I cliffed out and finally said screw it and headed west while I still had some concept of which way west was.  I got some decent ski turns in, but mostly the snow was crusty ice. I never even took my skins off I felt so insecure with all the boulders and ice. The slope choked into a gully with thick scrub oak and an icy stream.  I figured I must be in the Adams drainage so I climbed up to where I thought the cabin and trail should be. I even recognized the cliffs above the cabin. Then I let doubt sucker me.  I could hear gun shots from the Wasatch shooting range so I reckoned that I must be one more drainage south.  I headed back down to the stream and stopped looking for the cabin/trail. The swacking got so bad that I could hardly move.  The slopes and scrub oak choked all movement down to the stream.  After a real short conversation in my head I came to the only logical conclusion.  With my skis under my arms I jumped into the stream.  The ski boots had been rubbing bad for miles and I had monster blisters on each arch. The icy water penetrated instantly and stung the raw blisters.  My snow pants quickly shredded on sharp ice and branches and one foot turned into a 15 pound slushy ice mass.  I crawled stumbled and clawed on for over a mile! At times I could get out of the stream for a some waist deep post holing but soon the slopes would choke me right back into the stream.  Several times I fell head first into the stream and once nearly slipped under an ice bridge and off a small falls.  My body became completely sapped of energy but I stumbled on. I knew I had to follow the stream out. Luckily I spied some tracks and followed them up and over a cliff. A trail!!  My spirits instantly soared as I reconnected to humanity and out of the icy glacial hell. The trail soon crested another steep cliff and down a slotted gully.  I'll take steep cliffs over ice water any day.  I climbed down and down, tossing my skis as I dropped bigger sections.  Near the bottom I saw this awesome huge water fall.  I literally thought I had discovered this new awesome waterfall for a total of 9 seconds before I realized where I was. In Adams Drainage all along.  I stripped down to my sort of dry shorts and and threw on my hiking boots and took off down the trail.  With skis back on my back I cruised the extremely familiar trail for another 1.5 miles before reaching the Bonneville shoreline.  Another 1.5 miles and I was at the car as the last light of the day disappeared into total blackness. It is funny to think how much worse the swacking would have been if I was in a different drainage with out an eventual trailing leading out. Crazy.  Next time I will bite the bullet and get up early and go with friends.