Tokopah Falling

Climb hard - play hard - live hard. But be safe.

After being cooped up in my office for the past 7 weekends in a row, I
was itching to get back into the mountains.  I needed to relax.
Waterfall ice climbing, I thought, would do the trick.  Seemed logical
to me.

The weekend warrior inside me blasted out of the office at 4:45pm 
sharp.
I had one hour to pack all my gear and get down to our group meeting
place by 7pm.  I was stressed out that I'd forget something so I packed
EVERYTHING in sight.  After spending an hour in Friday commuter 
traffic,
I got to Tuan's apartment at 7:25pm - feeling bad about being late.
Tuan was there waiting, along with Jim.  No one else.

"Where the heck is everybody?" I thought.  The last e-mail I got said
there were nine people going.  

"Did you hear the news?" Jim asked.

"No, what?"

"Tuan's not going."

"What?"  I said in disbelief.

"It's true," Tuan said.  He had sent out a late e-mail canceling the
trip for personal reasons.  "But there is still the group from Stanford
going."

"I'm not sure if I'm still going either," Jim added.

My heart was sinking.  I had been looking forward to ice climbing all
week.  I've rock climbed for a number of years, but had yet to learn 
how
to climb ice. I reasoned that if I couldn't climb ice, then I'd have to
adjust my mountaineering goals - or at least just choose to take routes
that one could simply walk up.

"You don't need to ice climb to every summit," Tuan told me earlier.
"There are many routes that won't require it.  It's just not as much
fun."

Mountaineering has been described as "the art of suffering."  I figured
I could use all the fun I could get.

I sat there in Tuan's apartment deciding if I should stay or go.  On 
the
one hand, I could spend a great weekend with my girlfriend.  I'd been 
so
busy with my company's annual audit that Angela and I hadn't spent much
time together lately.  I definitely missed being with her.  On the 
other
hand, it would be my last chance this season to climb ice.  The weather
was getting warmer and the ice would soon be out of condition.  I 
didn't
want to wait until next season.

I reasoned that I would meet the group from Stanford and make a 
decision
at that point.  I didn't want to go if no one was qualified to provide 
a
safe climbing environment.  When Angela and I started dating, I 
promised
her I'd be safe about my outdoor adventures.  I intended to keep my
promise to her.

Brian, Jack, Esther, and Chris arrived around 7:45pm. They planned on
back country skiing if the ice was out of condition.  Jack could lead
climb ice, and Brian and Chris had climbed waterfalls before. Only
Esther and I had never ice climbed.  All four were outdoor instructors
in Stanford's Outdoor Education Program. Enough experience among them 
to
make me feel safe.  I was in.

Tuan was good enough to lend us five ice tools - ice axes specifically
designed to climb steep ice or water fall ice.  They had well sharpened
picks and a lower bend on the shaft for easier placement in ice.  If
looks could kill, these tools left no doubt.  I guess this is why some
people never take up ice climbing.  When you think about the gear you
use, there's a risk of injury.  And then there's the ice itself.  

I was in.

But I was hesitant.

- o -

We arrived at Lodgepole campground around 2:30am.  Temps hovered in the
mid-30s and the place was deserted.  We weren't supposed to camp there,
but we did anyway in the club tradition.   Chris, Esther and Brian set
up a bivy while Jack and I pitched his 2 person 4 season tent.

I was glad Jack rode in my car.  He had the most experience in the 
group
with ice climbing.  I picked his brain during the 4.5 hour drive to
Sequoia National Park.

"So Jack," I asked, "What kind of technique should I know about ice
climbing?"

"Don't know, really," he answered in his British accent, "I suppose 
that
Jeff Lowe is the most vocal about how to climb ice.

He says you should try to place your tools as high as you can, but not
so high that you are stretched out.  And once you get a good placement,
you simply straight-arm and hang from the ice axe leashes.  You use 
your
muscular-skeletal system to support your weight while your place your
feet.

And you just want to use a natural swing.  Don't pound the axe in too
hard, or you'll have trouble pulling it out.  Nor do you want to place
the tools too close together, because you might shatter the ice.  And
don't put the pick in at an angle to the plane of the ice, or it might
glide off and not place correctly.  Plus you'll have a harder time
pulling it out.  Just straight in, perpendicular, with a natural swing.

Do the same with your feet.  A nice, natural swing at the knees. Just
kick it straight in.  Or stem your feet to try to rest your calf
muscles. Sometimes if you really need to rest, you can cut a step with
the adze of your axe, and use that to step into the ice with your feet
sideways  to rest your calves."

"Natural swing huh?" I responded, "That should be easy.  I've been  fly
casting for years, so my right arm will do well!"

I started to swing my arms, one at a time, and visualized placing a 
tool
in the ice.  A nice, natural swing.  No wasted motion.  One swing, one
placement.  One kick, one placement.  Climb.

Seemed easy enough to me.

- o -

The sun was already beating down on our tent when I woke Saturday
morning.  I looked at my watch.  It was past 10am.  We were off to a
very late start and the day was going to be a warm one.  That didn't
make the climbing very promising.

We dismantled our campsite, made breakfast, and discussed what our 
plans
would be for the day.

"We should ski today up to Tokopah Falls and see if the ice is in
condition," Jack suggested.  "Tomorrow we can bring our gear and climb
if it's climbable."

"I think we should just go and climb," Brian offered.

"I could just go skiing all day," Esther said.

"Well, if we are going to climb," added Chris, "Then we shouldn't be
half-ass about it.  Let's ski up there and climb.  Otherwise, let's 
just
ski."

All eyes eventually turned to me.

"I'm perfectly happy to do either," I commented.  I was no help at all
to the decision making process.  "I'm just glad to be up in the
mountains again."

"Well Mike," Jack quipped, "That's only because you haven't suffered
enough."

I laughed with him, but I knew he was right.

In the end, we decided to climb. We didn't know what the conditions
would be like, so we brought ice screws, a lot of webbing, cams, nuts,
biners, one top rope, and a whole lot of other gear. Since they were 
OEP
instructors, they "borrowed" some equipment from Stanford.  Cross
country skis, step in crampons, ice axes, etc.  A nice little benefit.
Esther set out ahead of us while we sorted out what to bring.  

Of course, we brought too much.

- o -

The sun was warm and my pack was heavy.  I elected to wear only my Lifa
long underwear, top and bottom.  I looked like a sleepwalker on skis.
It wouldn't have been so bad if I had the mid-weight underwear - but I
only had the light-weight grade and you could practically see through
it.

"Good god!" Jack said when he saw me. "We have a streaker in our 
midst!"

"I don't care what I look like.  I'm going to be comfortable," I said.
Comfort before fashion, I thought.

We set out for Tokopah falls past 11am - much later than we would have
liked.  Temps were probably in the 70s.  What ever ice was waiting for
us would surely be in bad condition.  

"You just haven't suffered enough," I remembered Jack saying.

The trail lazily followed the North Fork of the Kaweah River through
Tokopah Valley.  Our approach was a little over two miles with a 1000
foot elevation gain.  

By the time we made it to the falls, I felt as if I had skied six 
miles.
This was partly due to a wrong turn we made.  Once we crossed the 
bridge
over Kaweah River, we should have made an immediate right turn and
followed the river.  Instead, we followed ski tracks to a NPS sign 
which
had a trail map that threw us off course.  We ended up ascending and
descending a lot of hills until we finally caught up with the true 
trail
about a mile later.

I bought myself a pair of Tua Montet telemark skis and Scarpa T2 boots
last season with the goal of learning how to telemark.  I figured this
would be as good a time as any to learn.  Having a heavy pack on my 
back
would test my skills further.  Unfortunately, I didn't wax my skis
properly with kick wax so on every up hill, I slipped  back as much as 
I
slid forward.  I was too lazy to take off my pack to put my skins on 
and
I didn't want to be left too far behind.  In hindsight, I should have
just put the skins on.  But like I said, I was lazy - and stupid.

Everyone skied ahead of me.  I didn't mind since I liked the solitude.
The sound of my ski boots creaking, my steady breathing, and snow
compacting underneath kept me in good company.  It was a beautiful day
and I wished I could ski slower to appreciate more of my surroundings.
On both sides of me were magnificent ridges covered in snow.  Large
conifers guarded the valley's secrets and sunlight reflected off the
snow, warming my face.   I made sure to keep up and made a mental note
to take pictures on the way back.

Skiing a little over a mile and a half in brought us into view of The
Watch Tower - a huge granite face rising 800 feet from the valley 
floor.
Climbing guide books show many classic routes to climb in the summer on
the Tower.  In the winter, the Tower featured Moon Age Dream, a classic
seven pitch ice climb rated at WI-4 (Waterfall Ice - Grade 4).  My eyes
widened.  Climbing that looked like fun.  And the ice seemed thick
enough to support a climbing party.  Some parts looked thin and might
require mixed ice and rock climbing.  Unfortunately, Jack didn't think
he would want to lead it.  So I settled on perhaps climbing it in the
future.  I hadn't even done my first ice climb and already I was making
in ice climb "To Do" list.  I whipped out my camera and took a few
shots.  

- o -

***A note on ice climbing grades (excerpted from _Freedom Of The 
Hills_,
published by The Mountaineers):

The variable conditions of ice climbing makes rating climbs difficult.
The only two factors that don't vary a lot from year to year are length
and steepness of ice.  Thickness of ice, temperature, plus the nature 
of
the ice and whether or not it offers good protection affect its
difficulty.

Three rating systems have been introduced in North America - the New
England Ice (NEI) rating system, first described in the early 70s by
Rick Wilcox, another in 79 by Jeff Lowe, and the third in 88 by Albi
Sole.  All use a modified version of the Scottish system, which 
consists
of two elements: 

1. The Seriousness/Overall Grade or Commitment Rating,  and 
2. The Technical Grade.  

Water ice is seasonal frozen waterfall ice or non-porous ice found in
alpine settings and is denoted as WI then the grading.

The Technical Grade (1-7) rates the single most difficult pitch, taking
into account the sustained nature of the climbing, ice thickness, and
natural ice features. 

Grade 4 is sustained 75-85 degree ice, separated by good belays or a
less steep pitch with significant vertical sections, generally good
quality ice and satisfactory protection.  

Grade 5 is noticeably more strenuous pitch of good but steep 85-90
degree ice and can be considered the equivalent of 5.9 rock in terms of
relative technical ability required.

The Seriousness Grade (I to VII) takes into account the length,
continuity, remoteness, hazards, and difficulty of descent.  It is not,
however, totally unaffected by technical difficulty.

Grade III is a multi-pitch route at low elevation, which may take
several hours, or a route with a long approach on skis demanding good
winter travel skills, or a route subject to occasional winter hazards.

Grade IV is a multi-pitch route at higher elevations or in a remote
region requiring mountaineering and winter travel skills.  It may be
subject to objective hazards such as avalanches or rock fall.  Descent
may present difficulties.

The Commitment Rating  (I to VII) shows the time and logistical
requirements of a climb.

I: Takes up to several hours.
II: About half a day
III: A full day, up to 7 or 8 hours.
IV:  A substantial undertaking - a very long day and possibly includes 
a
bivouac.

- o -

We arrived close to the base of Tokopah Falls just past 1 p.m., which
gave this climb a seriousness rating of III.  With our ski back, it
would warrant at least a commitment rating of II, if not III .  The day
was very late and warm.  I was overheating and already finished off two
liters of water.  I had one liter left and drank half when we ate 
lunch.
I surveyed our surroundings and immediately zoomed in on our climb.

Tokopah Falls is created from run off from Pear Lake, Aster Lake,
Emerald Lake, and Heather Lake.  Once over the falls, the water joins
the Kaweah River, which has it's origin just below the 11,188 foot 
Mount
Silliman to the east.  In the winter, the slow moving water freezes and
forms an ice climb about 100 feet high and 300 feet wide.  One big ice
cliff.  Beautiful.  Majestic.  Beckoning me.

"So that's Tokopah!" I exclaimed.  "Looks thick enough!"

"Well, not really," corrected Jack.  "We can do it.  But check out that
huge horizontal crack on the left.  It's ready to come down.  Not good.
We'll have to climb right.  And it's warming up, so the ice is melting
fast."

Jack finished his lunch then set out to fix top rope anchors for us.  
He
brought a rope, ice screws, webbing, and other gear to fix our anchors.
I watched his silhouette move up the slope, becoming smaller against 
the
backdrop of the ridges.  Slowly he climbed up towards the top of the
falls.

"Is he going to be safe?" I asked, concerned about avalanches.   There
was evidence of a recent avalanche a few hundred feet from where Jack
was climbing.

"He should be all right," Esther answered.  "Although, he is pretty
close to the run out zone."

An avalanche area is a location with one or more avalanche paths.  An
avalanche path is the entire area in which an avalanche moves and
consists of three parts:

1.  The Starting Zone - where unstable snow breaks loose from the snow
cover and starts to slide.
2.  The Track - the slope or channel down which snow moves at more or
less a uniform speed.
3.  The Run Out Zone - the portion of the avalanche path where the snow
slows down and comes to a rest.

Although Jack was relatively safe in the run out zone, if an avalanche
occurred above him, then he could get swept with the resulting wind
blast.  I watched him worriedly, making note of his position in case
something happened and we'd have to dig him out.

In hindsight, we skied in as a liability that day.  No one wore an
avalanche beacon or carried a snow shovel.  Brian, Chris, Esther and
Jack did have ski poles that could convert to avalanche probes.
Although our approach was well away from avalanche zones, we were now 
in
one.  To our north and south were steep ridges just ready to unload.
The day was warm, and if I dug a snow pit and tested snow temperature 
to
gauge avalanche probability, I'm sure I would have found snow temps
approaching 0 degrees Celsius - a primary signal of isothermal
conditions and high avalanche danger.

And Jack was in the run out zone.

I ate my lunch, then watched Chris, then Brian, then Esther follow 
Jacks
tracks up the slope towards the top of Tokopah falls.  When I finished
eating, I put skins on my telemarks and followed everyone's tracks,
hoping my fears of an avalanche didn't come true.

The slope increased in steepness, and I felt my heart pounding heavier
to compensate.  I looked up and breathed in the sights and smells.  It
was beautiful here.  

I then heard a crack, followed by a rumble. 

My heart jumped.  

The hairs on my body rose.

SON OF A BITCH!

! ! ! AVALANCHE ! ! !

I panicked for a second until I could figure out the origin.  The 
ground
beneath me wasn't moving.  It wasn't above me and my senses quickly
turned towards the ridge across the valley.  A prominent gully caught 
my
eye and I focused in on a waterfall like avalanche sliding down it.  I
whipped out my camera and took a few slide shots.  

I watched in amazement as the avalanche took place.  It was like
watching slow moving water tumble down.  Rocks crumbled along the path.
As each successive wave hit another snow bank, more snow was added and
the avalanche became larger.  Swooshing noises filled the air.  When it
was all over, I felt uneasily privileged - I had watched an avalanche's
dangerous beauty without experiencing it's wrath.

I put my camera away and set back up the hill, a little faster this
time.

When I got to the top, Esther was on her way down.  I took a few shots
of her making free heel turns on the soft virgin powder.  These were
great ski conditions, and I couldn't wait to make my own turns.

"How'd you like that avalanche?" I asked Brian when I got to the top.

"Wow, that was cool!" he responded.  "I got a few pictures of it!"

"So did I!"

"Are we all set here?" I said, noting their anchors.

"Yup," he answered.  "All done.  We've got a belay anchor set up, and
anchors using the skis and a tree.  We'll belay from the top.  I think
Chris is going first.  Then Jack.  When they get to the top, we'll
switch belays and then I can go."

"Cool!" I exclaimed.  "See you later!"

I turned around a skied back down the hill - making a fool of myself on
every turn.  That was a nice reminder to myself that I was a beginner 
at
telemarking.  I continued to the bottom of the hill to where I had left
my pack.  Then I brought all my gear close to the base of the ice 
climb.
Esther and Jack were already there, playing around the ice while Chris
tied in.

I took my boots out of my pack and changed from my T-2s to my new K-3s.
As I donned them, I couldn't help but think of Angela.

"I'm pretty darn lucky," I thought.  "Not only does she support my
outdoor addiction, she also buys me new boots for Christmas!"   Lucky
indeed.

- o -

Chris started up the climb.  He had the great idea of climbing with his
skis attached  to his pack.  That way he could ski down instead of 
walk.
Seemed sensible until he got halfway up and found he'd gotten so pumped
from the extra weight that he couldn't finish the climb.  In the end, 
he
didn't ski down after all.  

I took a picture of him and his attempt.

Jack went next.  

I watched him intently to try to find clues on technique.  It was just
as he had told me in the car.  Natural arm swings, natural kicks.
Little by little he climbed his way to the top.  I was impressed.  I
also took note of where we he climbed and the sound of the ice as he
placed his tools.  More often than not, when he placed a tool, a hollow
sounding thud followed.  I didn't know what solid ice was supposed to
sound like, but that didn't sound good at all.  It sounded as if the 
ice
was getting ready to peel off the rock, with a large air gap already
existing between rock and ice.  Yet Jack made it to the top anyway.

Esther went next.  I took a few shots of her make her way up.  The
hollow sounding placements continued for her too.  After she got up
about 20 feet, she decided not to continue.

"Down!" she yelled to Chris, who was belaying her now.

No response from Chris.

She hung there for a while, then yelled again.  "DOWN ROPE!"

After more yelling, Chris finally responded.  "Wha-a-t?"

"DOWN ROPE!!!!" she yelled again, frustrated.

"You want down?  OK!"

Chris lowered her to the bottom.  She untied, yelled "Off belay!" then
handed me the rope.

"How was it?" I asked, a little fearful that I had come all this way 
and
the ice had now gotten out of condition.

"It's horrible," she answered.  "It just seems so hollow and I didn't
feel very confident in the placements.  And it's melting like crazy.  I
just kept getting wetter and wetter.  But you should still give it a
go."

"Oh," I said hesitantly, not very confident that I'd get any farther
than her.


- o -


"On belay?" I yelled up to Chris.

No response.

"On belay?"  I yelled again.

Still no response.

I waited a few minutes and yelled again.

Still no response.

Finally, I just yelled, "Climbing!"

Instantly, I got a response.

"NO!  You are not on belay yet!"

That was all I wanted to hear.  I found my self getting a little
impatient.  The tools were sharp and cool in my hands, and I wanted to
use them.  I wanted to see if I was up to this.  Could I stand this
test?

"On belay!" I finally heard.

Adrenaline started to flow throw my body.

"CLIMBING!" I yelled, and placed my first tool on ice.

Actually, it was more like placing the spike in deep snow.  The bottom
of the section was a deep snow bank.  Once up about 15 feet, the snow
gave way to the ice that Esther had talked about.  Hollow sounds that
took away your confidence with each swing.

I arrived at the ice and set my feet.  I surveyed the ice above me and
found a spot to make my first ever tool placement. I swung my tool.  It
glided off.  Not a good start.

"So much for being Jeff Lowe!" I thought.

I swung again.  This time it placed.  I pulled down on it and
experienced what Esther had told me.  Not very solid ice at all.  The
tool pulled out.  I swung it again, this time it stayed.  Not bomber by
any standards, but good enough for me to place the tool in my other
hand.

When I felt confident in both placements, I straightened my arms and
hung on the leashes.  I moved my feet up then kicked until they stayed.
Cautiously, I stood on my feet.

"Thank god!" I thought.  My crampons stayed in place.  The ice tools
where now about chest level and I locked my right arm, pulled down on
the leash, and loosened the left tool.

Immediately, I looked to place the tool.  One swing, one placement.  
The
focus that I get from climbing came to me, and I found myself in a
meditative zone and rhythm.  Look for a placement, swing a tool, hang,
plant the feet, stand, lock arms, remove tools, feel the adrenaline,
repeat.  Over and over and over and over.  I got into my climbing
rhythm, with only small interruptions by the occasional non-placement 
of
a tool.  

Before I decided to come on this trip, I asked Tuan if he thought I
could do it.

"Perhaps," he answered.

"Well, how much harder is it than rock climbing?"

"Oh, it eez much eeezier," he replied.  "You don't have to look for a
hold.  You make your own!"

He was right.  This was much easier than rock climbing, but a heck of a
lot colder.  In mid-thought, I started to realize that I couldn't feel
my fingers anymore.  Every time I placed a tool and hung on the leash,
my fingers came into contact with the ice.  They were freezing, even
though I had Gore-Tex over gloves.

I climbed past the thin ice that Esther talked about.  I had no
reference point by which to judge the quality of the ice so if I could
climb it, then it seemed in good condition to me.  There were 
definitely
sections that were thinner than others.  But all in all it was 
climbable
and my ignorance of good ice versus bad kept me going.  Three-fourths 
of
the way up, I looked up and was able to see Chris belaying me.

"Hey!" he said, "How's it going?"

"Great," I responded, "A little tiring!"

"Have you ever done this before?"

"Nope.  First time.  I love it!"

"Well, you're doing great.  Just keep on going!"

"But my fingers are frozen!"

"You are holding your tools wrong," he said. "After you place it, let 
go
of the shaft, put your fingers behind the axe, and just hang on the
leashes."

"Oh," I said.  Duh!

I was getting closer to the top and valued his suggestion.  My fingers
started to get feeling back.

When I climb, I always where a helmet.  Today was no exception.  As I
approached the top, I began to wonder why Tuan required that everyone
bring a helmet for this trip.  I placed a tool, felt it secure well,
then hung on the leashes.  As I started to place my feet, the tool came
loose and landed directly onto my head.

Thud.

I stopped wondering why I wore a helmet each time I climbed.

At the top of the climb was a section that had no ice at all.  Just 
snow
and rock.  I got to try mixed climbing.  I kicked into a section of ice
and the piece shattered in half then fell downward in two large chunks.

"ICE!!!!!"  Chris yelled, warning anyone below.  I just watched it fall
away and was glad that I wasn't falling with it.

I continued trying to get up and over the top.  However, my crampons
kept skidding off the rock.  I found a tree under the snow and used it
to try to pull myself up. My feet kept gliding off.  I made a big push,
stood on my crampons, and then felt a sharp pain as my right crampon
slid off the rock into my left thigh.  Somehow, my pants stayed intact,
but my skin didn't.  Later, when we got back to Lodgepole, I inspected
my injury and knew it wouldn't be pretty when I found blood on my long
johns.  I had a gash about one-eighth of an inch deep where a crampon
point had penetrated.  The gash ran down my left inner thigh for about 
5
inches but became shallower as it neared my knee.   It healed after a
week.

"Skin heals, Gore-tex doesn't," Chris told me later.

Guess I should be glad I didn't rip my pants.

When I finally got to the top using a  high step and brute force, I 
felt
elated.  My first ice climb, and I really enjoyed it.  Jack had skied
back up to the top so that he could belay Brian next.

"Good show Mike!" Jack congratulated.

"Thanks!  That was great.  I can see why people get into it.  That 
won't
be my last either!"

I rested a little while Chris and Jack changed belays.  Adrenaline 
still
rushed through me and I stayed with the natural high, smiling stupidly
as I walked back down.  Smiling very stupidly.  It was wonderful.

- o -

Brian climbed after me, then Chris gave it another go.  It was starting
to get late and the sun shone on the ice by the time Chris started.  We
were getting concerned about returning before dark, as I don't think
everyone brought head lamps.  Fortunately, Chris climbed quickly and
they dismantled the anchors.

Esther packed up all her gear and headed back well ahead of us.  We
didn't leave Tokopah until well after 6 p.m. I volunteered to carry the
Brian's rope, which was now wet, heavy and unwieldy, causing me to fall
more than I should have. We followed our tracks back down the valley,
and night fall soon over took us.  

I pulled out my headlamp but didn't turn it on, hoping that my eyes
would adjust to the darkness and the full moon would light our path.
Jack and I were the least experienced skiers, and it showed.  He and I
kept falling and falling and falling.  It would not have been so bad if
I didn't have a heavy pack, but every time I fell, I had to get back up
with the weight of the pack pulling me back down.

I soon grew very tired and very frustrated.  I had been waiting the
entire trip for the suffering to start.

It had started.

I had no more water, food, or energy.  I was sleepy, cold then hot, wet
then sweaty.  With each fall, I lost a little more patience with 
myself.
But I persevered, knowing that we'd get back somehow.  We turned on our
headlamps once we realized that we couldn't see where we were going.
Only Brian, Chris and I had headlamps.  Jack just followed us in our
light.

We negotiated a few steep hills that dumped me on my butt many times 
and
defeated my spirit.  Halfway down, Brian offered to take his rope off 
my
hands.

"I'll be OK," I told him.

Four falls later, I realized that being macho wasn't worth the risk of
injuring myself in a fall and jeopardizing group safety.  I handed 
Brian
his rope and found my pack fifteen pounds lighter.  It made a big
difference.

"We must be close," Chris said eventually.  "I remember this area as
being close to the bridge.  We should be there soon."

Thank god, I thought.  I couldn't wait to drink something, eat, and
change into something dry.

We skied on and on.  From behind, I heard Chris yelling Esther's name.
Somehow, she had seen our headlamps and moved towards us until we were
within hearing distance of one another.  Even though she left well 
ahead
of us, she got caught in the dark also.  Without a headlamp and all by
herself.  It was luck that we found each other.  I had actually been
hoping to get back to the cars to find she had whipped up some hot
drinks for us.  The idea kept me going.  Now I had to think of 
something
else.

We'd been skiing for what seemed like hours, and I knew we must be 
close
- that kept me going.  We finally came to the bridge, and then the 
trail
head.  It felt good to get out of my boots and walk around with light
feet.  All of us had a long day, and we were tired and hungry.  It was
past 9 p.m. when we arrived at the cars.

I had suffered.  But it wasn't as bad as I expected.

Once we drank a little and ate a little, all our moods changed.
Everyone became a little more jovial.  We discussed what our plans 
would
be for the next day.  No one wanted to climb again.  Everyone wanted to
ski tour.

Chris, Esther, and Brian decided to ski a trail from Wolverton to Giant
Forest, which turned out to be a great back country trail that they
recommended highly.  Jack and I decided to practice free heel turns on
the gentle slopes of Wolverton.  By the end of  Sunday, I had my turns
down and became very confident with my new found skills.  Later that
Sunday, Jack and I took a small tour of the Sequoias in Giant Forest.
It was a great trail and very few people were on it.  

Once we had a general idea for the next day's plans, we fired up our 
one
stove and began to cook a dinner that we wished cooked faster.   Esther
had already fallen asleep.

"I think I lost 6 pounds today!" I exclaimed.

Everyone laughed in agreement.

My sense of humor was back, and I was glad.  I would need it for my next trip.

To continue onto the Matterhorn Peak series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the mountaineering series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the rock climbing series. . . -Click Here-

To continue onto the fly fishing series. . . -Click Here-