Thumbs up yerself, Bill! 16 November, 1995
The more snowshoe-ing I do, the less I enjoy it, especially when it's getting close to the winter soltice and daylight is at a premium. Besides, it's that waddling motion that makes me sore, even with my sleek aluminum-framed skidders. Much rather be on crosscountry skiis. Everyone keeps telling me that 'shoes are the way, but my hip joints are screaming in opposition to that so-called wisdom.
We see the North Face of Little Pawnee Peak head on through a break in the trees. Sure, it looks steep. Everything looks that way from the front around here. The sight of it motivates me, and somehow I find a rhythm that pleases my bones. Must be the cold, clean mountain air...
We flop onto a large flat boulder below the gully. Snacks. Water. Wind-born ice crystals pepper our backs as we shelter within our hooded parkas, facing East. It's early afternoon. The rack we've brought is much too big. We pare it down. Bill continues to speak of doing something else. When he first lays eyes on the gully from afar, he is inspired...
...to go home.
"Look at the spindrift coming down that thing," he exclaims. I think he is excited to see it. My inspiration is precisely the opposite of his:
"Yeah," I gush. I am infatuated with that gully and its cascades of spindrift. I can't wait to sink my crampon teeth into it.
He sticks to the plan, though. He is reluctant, but willing. In contrast, I am blinded by love. Just plain stupid-silly-in-love with that whole North Face.
I just can't help myself. The gully is only about a thousand vertical feet high. This is Indian Peaks stuff. We could be up and down in a few hours. Heck, the summit is 12,466 feet above sea level, and we are already above 11,000. Won't be long now...
We third-class the initial several hundred feet of the couloir, until it occurs to me that a real avalanche would probably finish us off for good. We pause for a snack, then I lead off, placing "just-in-case-of-an-avalanche" protection along the way. I'm pleased to be able to place an ice screw on the route, although we really don't need it...
I've never been in such a spectacular cascade! It's almost like a ride at Disneyland, or maybe it's more like standing on a beach and looking down at my feet as the water washes over them... mesmerizing...
I find that the best runnels for making upward progress are slightly polished. The milky-white troughs are absolute crud, typical post-hole territory.
I am awash in Idiot Glee as I set up a belay at the source of the spindrift, a glazed, rounded wave of frozen water. Bill follows, wearing that same idiotic grin which I've been sporting for the last few hundred feet. All the nagging doubts he was feeling below the wall are obviously gone. The top can't be far off, but for some reason we decide to retreat from here.
I guess the sport-climbing frame of mind has pervaded the mountains...
© 1997 gnorga@aol.com
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