Lastly, I had one MAJOR scare on Friday
morning. I had to cross Dead Horse Pass, 600 vertical feet of a
sketch-ball trail interspersed with minor snowfields. I say minor because
they were not big, but big enough to cause me to really consider if I had
made the right choice. The pass is not readily shown in these photos - in
dhl_sunset2.jpg, it is located just off the left side. I had just crossed
the upper snowfield once (thankfully there was one set of footprints from
the previous day, although I did punch through a weak layer in the middle
- more about that later) at about 500 feet off the valley floor. The
trail switched back at the side of the snow. This caused me to lose my
way because while the trail switched back, there was still a minor trail
continuing in the same direction I was just traveling. Before I knew it,
I was scrambling up a shale steep slope.
I had lost the trail and I was very screwed -
I was 30 feet to the right of the snowfield and 20 feet above the
switchback in no mans land. The 50 pound pack added to my worries -
keeping balance was paramount to survival. At this time I had that
defining moment in one's life that that next several minutes would consist
of two scenarios - 1) I'd figure out a way across or 2) I'd slide to my
death. No kidding. I couldn't make this stuff up. I was about 80
vertical feet above 15-20 foot cliffs. The entire pass is one big rock
pile. Falling was out of the question - I would never have survived
that. It is kind of funny, but I have been in situations skiing that made
me scared but not like this.
One thing I had learned was NOT to panic.
Doing this was normally the reason why people get killed because they lose
focus and start doing really stupid things. Well, I had done one
dangerously stupid thing which had taken all of about ten seconds. I
could not undo that - all I could was to stop scrambling, breath heavy to
reduce stress, rest for 30-45 seconds, scan the surrounding area for a way
out, and pray. I looked up and about 15 feet above me was some larger
rocks, say about 1-2 feet big - these would provide me with stability that
I did not have at the moment. I gingerly scrambled straight up (the slope
at this time must have been 50 degrees) and got to the rocks. They could
have been more stable but they were better than the quicksand material I
was on. Once up there, I traversed back to the left and made it to
snowfield. At this point I could have crossed using another set of
footprints or I could slide/glissade down the loose rock to a better set
of prints. I realized then two important things - 1) the top set of
prints should not have been there - someone else messed up just as I had
and 2) if I would have gone straight up just before the initial snow
crossing, I'd have made it to the trail without having to cross any snow
at all! I could not have seen this from below.
After contemplating for two minutes, I decided
to slide down 10 feet to the lower tracks - they looked deeper than the
others. This was morning, about 7:45am so the snow was still quite hard
and consolidated. I then took my first steps across the snow, planting
each foot 4-5 times to make sure it'd stay, using my right hand as a
stabilizer. Half way across I broke through that weak layer and found
myself up to my crotch in snow. I figured it was going to happen because
of it happening earlier. I spent what seemed like minutes pushing snow
with my left foot into the hole, trying to pack it down to give me enough
of a base to place that left foot and push down to get me out. The snow
was similar to depth hoar, very sugary - it had no bonding capabilities.
Well, after 20 or so foot scrapes I got enough in to hold me. I pressed
down, got out, and safely made way across the rest of it.
All told, the snowfield was at most 40 feet
across. Forty feet too much. From this point I made it to the pass in
about another two minutes. The view was incredible! Worth it, I think.
I need to scan many more slides as the ones I attached here were mainly
from the first day/night.
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