As I stood on the knife edged mountain top eating an almond butter and honey sandwich, the air pressure seemed to drop and the wind began to howl in the trees around me. Soon, the tree tops were whipping around and bits and pieces of trees, sprigs of Douglas fir, twigs, small branches, and Old Man's Beard were blowing all over the place. An especially strong gust of wind slammed open the door to a ski patrol hut nearby. I could go in there for shelter, but I think I'll stand out here and take it all in. This snow storm was extra special because it came with thunder, and lightning was blasting the mountain top all around me. The wind was so strong ( 40 - 50 mph gusts imo) that it threatened to blow me down. It was so strong at the mountain top that it reminded me of hurricanes I'd been in. I put on my sun glasses, pulled down my balaclava, and began peeling an orange. Bring it.
By the time I had finished my lunch, the wall of snow had blotted out the 2nd mountain from me. Soon, it was over the valley directly below. And then it began snowing so heavily that I couldn't see more than 100 feet. I didn't want to do any more downhill runs because I couldn't see the moguls under these conditions. With my telemark skis, I usually wipe out on the moguls if I can't see far enough ahead to plan. Alpine skis or even a set of alpine-telemark bindings (heel latched down) would be ideal for the downhill part because I never fall in them. So I headed for the Canyon Loop, a trail that follows the rim of a 5000 foot canyon and eventually connects with a network of 100s of miles more trails. Everything was now whited out and I could only see a few hundred feet. So much for the spectacular vistas across the canyon. And of course I couldn't see any of the trail markers during such heavy snow. But, I memorized a topographical map of the area before I left home so finding my way shouldn't be a problem.
I started on Canyon Loop Trail and within minutes, I began hearing people following me. They were talking loudly and occasionally shouting as they crashed through the underbrush. It sounded like they kept going off the trail. Who would be out here in a snow storm? Other than myself, I've never met anyone who enjoys these conditions and seeks them out. And this place is remote. Even on a clear day, I've never seen anyone here. For nearly 10 miles of skiing, I could hear them every few minutes. By now, I was way out along a partially forested ridge, but the voices were still behind me. I could make out a word or phrase every now and then but never a full sentence and nothing that made sense. I felt like the Jack Nickolson character in the Shining. It's been a while, but wasn't he hearing the former occupants of the deserted hotel during the blizzard? It didn't seem appropriate that I was now hearing here because I never heard voices when I've skied at the real Timberline (on Mt. Hood in Oregon, the site of fictional Overlook Hotel where the Shining was filmed) -- when I lived in Portland, my gf and I would ski there on the weekends...
I went on exploring for another hour or so. When I heard them, I'd pause sometimes and turn aroudn. Nothing. Now it was still snowing too heavily to see anyting --- Nobdy was there and they finally quieted down, but I could almost sense somebody through the snow and trees. Maybe Grady was out there ready to serve me a drink. Or maybe the bathtub woman ready to do her thing. So this time, I back-tracked, staying in the ski tracks I'd just made and then hid in some bushes along the path. I waited in the bushes to see if I can spot them. Nothing. I got back on the trail. Anyway, I went to the north end of the ridge which seemed like a good place to turn around. It had snowed this whole time, and finally it was stopping. The ridge ended in a 5000 foot cliff. The next mountain was visible across the eastern end of the valley, but the storm was still on the western half. What I took to be the continuation of the trail seemed to get lost in a tangled clear-cut farther along the ridge.
There was a thread of a river below. Good spot to pee. How far will it go in the wind? Can I hit the river? That was fun, maybe I'll bring a golf club and a bag of golf balls during the summer.
I was hungry again. Here, I ate my dinner sitting on my haunches on the overlook enjoying the fantastic view. Meanwhile, the snow had covered my ski tracks except those I'd made during the last mile or so. I was kind of annoyed that I wouldn't be able to track the people who had been following me. But on my return trip, my tracks were still visible in some spots where they had been sheltered by denser forest or bluffs. My tracks were always the only ones there.
By the time I had finished my lunch, the wall of snow had blotted out the 2nd mountain from me. Soon, it was over the valley directly below. And then it began snowing so heavily that I couldn't see more than 100 feet. I didn't want to do any more downhill runs because I couldn't see the moguls under these conditions. With my telemark skis, I usually wipe out on the moguls if I can't see far enough ahead to plan. Alpine skis or even a set of alpine-telemark bindings (heel latched down) would be ideal for the downhill part because I never fall in them. So I headed for the Canyon Loop, a trail that follows the rim of a 5000 foot canyon and eventually connects with a network of 100s of miles more trails. Everything was now whited out and I could only see a few hundred feet. So much for the spectacular vistas across the canyon. And of course I couldn't see any of the trail markers during such heavy snow. But, I memorized a topographical map of the area before I left home so finding my way shouldn't be a problem.
I started on Canyon Loop Trail and within minutes, I began hearing people following me. They were talking loudly and occasionally shouting as they crashed through the underbrush. It sounded like they kept going off the trail. Who would be out here in a snow storm? Other than myself, I've never met anyone who enjoys these conditions and seeks them out. And this place is remote. Even on a clear day, I've never seen anyone here. For nearly 10 miles of skiing, I could hear them every few minutes. By now, I was way out along a partially forested ridge, but the voices were still behind me. I could make out a word or phrase every now and then but never a full sentence and nothing that made sense. I felt like the Jack Nickolson character in the Shining. It's been a while, but wasn't he hearing the former occupants of the deserted hotel during the blizzard? It didn't seem appropriate that I was now hearing here because I never heard voices when I've skied at the real Timberline (on Mt. Hood in Oregon, the site of fictional Overlook Hotel where the Shining was filmed) -- when I lived in Portland, my gf and I would ski there on the weekends...
I went on exploring for another hour or so. When I heard them, I'd pause sometimes and turn aroudn. Nothing. Now it was still snowing too heavily to see anyting --- Nobdy was there and they finally quieted down, but I could almost sense somebody through the snow and trees. Maybe Grady was out there ready to serve me a drink. Or maybe the bathtub woman ready to do her thing. So this time, I back-tracked, staying in the ski tracks I'd just made and then hid in some bushes along the path. I waited in the bushes to see if I can spot them. Nothing. I got back on the trail. Anyway, I went to the north end of the ridge which seemed like a good place to turn around. It had snowed this whole time, and finally it was stopping. The ridge ended in a 5000 foot cliff. The next mountain was visible across the eastern end of the valley, but the storm was still on the western half. What I took to be the continuation of the trail seemed to get lost in a tangled clear-cut farther along the ridge.
There was a thread of a river below. Good spot to pee. How far will it go in the wind? Can I hit the river? That was fun, maybe I'll bring a golf club and a bag of golf balls during the summer.
I was hungry again. Here, I ate my dinner sitting on my haunches on the overlook enjoying the fantastic view. Meanwhile, the snow had covered my ski tracks except those I'd made during the last mile or so. I was kind of annoyed that I wouldn't be able to track the people who had been following me. But on my return trip, my tracks were still visible in some spots where they had been sheltered by denser forest or bluffs. My tracks were always the only ones there.
