Yesterday started so well. My parents dropped me at the trail near mid day, and I made it up Kearsarge Pass by 2. I had heard that a storm was coming in, but the locals said the forecast had changed from snow to strong winds. There were, in fact, strong winds at the trailhead, but they came in infrequent gusts and were tolerable. So when I reached the top of the pass and saw tufts of cloud floating in over the mountains (pictured), I didn't think much of it. When I started down the other side of the pass, though, I hit a wall of icy wind that made the wind at the trailhead feel like a summer breeze. It began to burn wherever it hit exposed skin, and my nose especially started to ache. As I hiked along I lost feeling in most of my face and soon I had a streamer of snot and blood whipping out of my nose. That was probably the first sign that things weren't going to go well.
I met a dayhiker on my way into the PCT. He saw the weather coming and was cutting his trip short to avoid it. I tried having a conversation with him, but my face was frozen and my speech was slurred. I put on another layer of clothes and pressed on. Then it began to snow. Not much, just a few flakes here and there. I had reached the PCT by then and could have stopped to spend the night and ride out any weather coming in. I decided to move on to Rae Lakes instead, since they were lower elevation and would mean a site with water. The lakes were 4 miles on, over Glenn Pass, which meant I would also put a high pass behind me before more snow got dumped on it.
I headed up the pass, which was a narrow slot between towering cliffs. In the center were great heaps of talus and boulders, up which the trail switchbacked. There wasn't much snow on the ground, but the sky was beginning to look like country gravy, which was another sign that I should have turned back. I finally reached a knife-like ridge that marked the top of Glenn Pass at just under 12,000 feet. On the other side was a steep snow field leading down to rocks below. I had left my ice axe with my parents figuring that if I didn't need it in the high Sierra to the south I wouldn't need it going forward. I looked at the slope and felt a hint of doubt creep in. This is, of course, where anyone with brains would tell you to TURN BACK!
I could see a piece of the trail about 400 yards northeast and 200 feet below me on a ledge. I decided to traverse the snow field by following a set of footprints dug in the snow. Then, if the trail ahead looked clear I would proceed. Otherwise, I would turn back. I made it to the ledge and there was only snow as far as the eye could see. I went over my options. I could go on into the snow and try to find the trail, but I didn't think I would have enough daylight. I could go back a few miles to a better campsite to wait out the storm, but the meant a hard hike back down the pass. I thought about pitching tent on the level trail and waiting for morning.
I got out my tent only to find a clip broken. The clips hold the tent fly to the ground sheet, so without it my shelter would fly off in the wind. I could improvise a solution, but that would take time. Meanwhile I was losing feeling in my hands, and therefore my ability to make repairs. I noticed my water bottle was frozen solid, so no shelter, no fire, and no water. Downhill or back up to the pass. Decision time. And then the shit hit the fan. Out of nowhere a blizzard hit, with gusts of wind and whipped up snow like I couldn't believe. Updrafts from the canyon below began blowing snow in my face so hard I couldn't see anything in that direction. I don't want to over-dramatize, but this was the strongest and worst blizzard I had ever seen. I began to panic, my only thought being "I have to get out of this. I have to get down out of this elevation." Had I tried it I have no doubt I would have been injured, lost, or worse in the attempt. Fortunately my voice of reason took over. It said "that's how climbers get killed on mountains, descending when they can't see." And "you're ok, just take it slowly and go back the way you know."
I turned to find the blizzard had already obliterated all sign of the trail. Without the footsteps I had followed I would have to cross the snow field with no ice axe or steps. Meanwhile the temperature had turned the snow field icy, and at 30 to 40 degree slope, that meant extreme danger. There were some boulders leading uphill, which I climbed briefly until they became snow packed and icy. I had no choice but to cross the snow field, so I got out my tent poles, folded them up, and used them as a makeshift ice axe. This meant my hands were exposed to the biting wind, while wrapped around rapidly freezing metal. My hands ached, but I reached the pass safely. I was so relieved I took a moment to breathe, and snapped a picture of myself in the storm. The goofy look on my face is actually me trying to smile, but that is as close as I can get because my face is frozen beyond my control.
The trail back down was obliterated too, and I found myself navigating the talus slopes as best I could. Each step sank through the snow and caused me to slide on icy rock beneath. The slides were not far or dangerous, like the other side of the pass had been, but a bad slip could still mean a sprained ankle. I fell a few times and landed on my hand, which now aches like a deep tissue bruise. Finally I found the trail and made my way back to Kearsarge Pass. Despite my exhaustion I couldn't help but wonder at the beauty of the snowfall around me. The wind had died down, leaving wind shaped ridges twining through the landscape. I saw a grouse or pheasant, and stopped to watch it run delicately through the clean white field. I had taken a picture of the view from Kearsarge early in the day, which I contrasted with a picture of the trail up to the pass later the same day.
I made it down to Onion Valley. I was at 9200 feet and for the moment the snow was light, as were the winds. My parents were still in Lone Pine, so I called them for a pick up in the morning. It was getting late, so I fixed up my tent as best I could and crawled in. As the night wore on the snow got heavier and the winds reached a howling speed that tore away the work I had done on the tent. For the rest of the night the sides of the tent billowed, and I crawled out this morning to find a quarter inch of snow covering me. I had just finished packing up, intending to hike down the road out of the storm, when my parents showed up.
I learned a lot yesterday. Mostly about respecting the power of the mountains. It was a lesson I thought I knew, but with experience our confidence often outweighs our competence. I got a very inexpensive reminder. I hiked 30 miles, much of it through a blizzard. I climbed 4500 feet, and descended the same amount. I had cold and discomfort, have small cuts, sore muscles, and a few bruises. Still, I am lucky that the price wasn't higher. I learned firsthand how important it is to stay calm and collected, and though I was shaken by the experience, I am glad to know I was able to do so under pressure.
The question today was to figure out what to do next. The storm should pass tonight, and the forecast is for warm weather going forward. I could leave the trail for a couple weeks to let the Sierras thaw, but after much thought I believe they are passable, and that I just hit bad weather and bad timing. My plan is to take three extra days of food and go back to one of the lakes in Onion Valley. I will stay there tomorrow and the day after to allow thawing of the passes, then move up over Kearsarge the next day. I will try Glenn Pass again after that, always remembering to be humble in the face of the mountain. Hopefully that will put me in Mammoth Lakes in a week and a half. I will either fix or replace my tent, and will be carrying gloves and my ice axe again, so I will be better prepared to get back on the horse.
Wolverine was still here in town (we are staying in Bishop tonight before dropping me back at the trail). He is heading up day after tomorrow with Wolfie, so I might be able to team up with him for some strength in numbers. I also hear Orange Ranger is up at the lakes, so this could turn into a regular summit party. I won't have reception until Mammoth Lakes, so wish me luck!
