Waddington Ski Traverse - Spring 2003
We were scheduled to fly on Friday, April 25th. I decided it would be prudent to do a trial pack on Tuesday night. Everything fit, but just barely. The pack weighed in at a respectable 65lbs � exactly half of my body weight. I was excited and nervous and ready to go.
On Thursday, however, we got the disappointing news from the pilot that the weather was not looking good for flying. Friday, therefore, was anticlimactic. It was a gorgeous sunny day here in Vancouver and it was hard to imagine that the blue skies did not continue up the coast to the Waddington Range.
Saturday and Sunday were the same. The flight kept getting postponed, while we tried to entertain ourselves with picnics and Frisbee on the beach. It was not exactly a painful way to be forced to wait. But it was not what we wanted to be doing.
When we finally headed off for Pemberton on Monday morning, therefore, spirits were tentatively high. They took a considerable dip as we pulled into the little airstrip and saw our plane taking off. We were scheduled to leave in 30 minutes � where was he going?!
There was no one around to answer our questions so we did the only thing we could. We waited.
Around noon, the little red Beaver was spotted, much to our relief. But the news from Dale wasn�t great. He said it was possible to fly, but he was behind schedule because of fog that morning. Furthermore, the group that he�d just left had been dropped in a slightly different place than planned due to poor visibility.
We decided it was worth a try (we were tired of waiting) and the first group of 3 climbed in. Never having flown in a plane this small, I was given the chance to sit up front, while Gabriella and Frank took the rear seats.
It was a spectacular ride of just over an hour. Dale handled his plane smoothly and confidently. Once we were airborne, the butterflies in my tummy settled and I was able to gaze at the incredible scenery below. Wide sweeping glaciers, dangerous looking icefalls, peaks of every shape, deep inlets creating paths of colour � it went on as far as we could see.
Our hope was to land on the col between Mt. Agur and Mt. Munday. Dale gamely took several tries at this narrow landing before admitting that it was too difficult. Instead, he circled down to a soft landing in the snow of the Ice Valley Glacier.
We had arrived, but only half of the group was there. Dale still needed another several hours of good weather to get back and bring the others out. We unloaded as quickly as possible and he was off, leaving us in the silent, sparkling, stunning world of the Waddington Range.
We busied ourselves setting up Camp Rolo: flattening tent platforms, building snow walls and digging out a kitchen. Then we just sat and took in our view, which contained most of the major objectives of our trip: Mt. Munday, Mt. Cavalier, Mt. Finality, and of course, Mt. Waddington.
We figured we still had an hour before the others might arrive and headed out for a little ski. Not 10 minutes out of our camp, though, we heard the sounds of a plane and saw the familiar red wings coming towards us. They were early!
Helen, Craig, and Doug all climbed out of the plane, looking like we must have: eyes wide and mouths stretched into huge grins. Well, Helen and Doug looked like this. Craig looked rather pale and shaky. Between the bumping around that all little planes suffer around the mountains and a bad brownie he�d eaten earlier, he�d spent the whole flight trying to keep his stomach contents inside. Nevertheless, now that he was on solid ground, he agreed it was impossible not to be impressed with the beauty of our surroundings.
To celebrate the first hurdle (ie getting there) we had a scrumptious dinner of tortellini and salmon made the night before by Helen. Desert was Rolo ice cream, a treat we had brought for consumption at our first base camp; hence the naming of our temporary home Camp Rolo.
Nobody slept well that night. Getting used to sleeping at close quarters with new people always takes some time. And three girls in a 2.5 man tent was certainly cozy!
But no one had difficulty getting up the next day. It was a windless, cloudless, bluebird sky and we were keen to start exploring our new playground.
Mt. Munday was the plan, the second highest peak in the range at ?m. A rather ambitious objective for our first day, perhaps, but we wanted to take advantage of the good weather while we had it.
It was a straightforward, gentle climb up Ice Valley Glacier to the Munday-Agur col and then more of the same to reach an expansive bowl. It got a lot more challenging at this point, as there were two options, both with their pros and cons. One was a fairly wide snow slope which we could have skinned up, but it looked concerning from an avalanche perspective. The other was a very steep, narrow snow gully, which looked just plain sketchy.
Frank, our fearless leader went first, intending to go for the snow slope. But he obviously didn�t like it as partway up, he resolutely kick turned and headed towards the gully. About 2m from the top it got too steep for skis; he started boot stepping. Unfortunately, the snow was so soft, he was having difficulty getting solid footing. His solution was to use his skis behind him to step on! We all held our breath as he struggled up the last few vertical steps and then disappeared over the top. Phew.
By the time I brought up the rear, there were good steps kicked in the snow and Frank had rigged up a belay system. I was still a bit spooked coming up the last section though. I asked Frank how he had felt doing it solo. He grinned and replied, �I like the adrenaline!� I decided that every trip needs a guy like this.
The rest of the route was once again, safe, simple and straightforward; up a wide ridge to the peak. It was just in time for lunch and the weather was holding out.
The views were wonderful. Waddington loomed to our right, our campsite was a spot on the glacier below, and the snowy peaks went on forever. We spent a good hour soaking it all up and snoozing in the sunshine.
The way down was all ski-able so the skins came off. The snow had been well warmed by the sun into soft, but not quite corn consistency so the skiing was lovely down to the edge of the bowl. No one had any desire to ski the gully we�d come up. We had t take our chances with the snow slope. Doug and Craig opted for a more extreme line than the rest of us so we watched them swoosh down in graceful tele style. The rest of us came down our more moderate slope with less elegance, but grins that were just as big.
We skied right down to our camp, arriving exhausted but thrilled at our amazing first day. It was blazingly hot down there so the shorts came out. The thermarests also emerged and, for those of us concerned about not being able to walk the following day, an extensive stretching session was done.
We celebrated by polishing of the Rolo, which had turned into a very curious texture: somewhere between a mousse and a milkshake. It was divine!
The following day was one we were all dreading. We were moving camp. Our route took us up and over the steep Waddington-Jester col and we hadn�t been out long enough for our packs to have gotten noticeably lighter. It was going to hurt.
Fortunately, the first part was all downhill and we got to try out our Krazy Karpet sleds. There were 2 versions of the sled on this trip. 4 people had planned to just put their entire pack on the plastic, towing it from their harness. Helen & I had opted for a version based loosely on John Baldwin�s design. This involves putting your heaviest stuffsacks on the sled which is then synched up to create a narrow torpedo while the rest of your gear is carried on your back. Helen and I had spent a long time fine-tuning our sleds. They included such features as bungee cords to smooth out the ride and metal swivels to avoid rope tangling in the case of the sled rolling. We were all curious to see our sleds in action.
We quickly realized that there are pros and cons to both versions. For the first part of our day, I was extremely envious of the others. With the entire pack on the sled, they could comfortably sit on the affair and ride it like, say, a horse. Doug quickly established himself as a master of this sport, attaining speeds on his steed that rivaled world class downhill racers.
Helen and I, on the other hand, had no choice but to ski with our sleds which acted very much like young puppies not yet trained on the leash; skittering away unpredictably one moment, only to be nipping at our heals the next. They quickly attained personalities and were named Betty and Basil because they were both blue. And so began my love-hate relationship with my sled, Basil.
The fun of cruising down Ice Valley Glacier ended all too soon. It was a long slog up from there and it was already very warm. There was nothing to do but put one ski in front of the other. In this situation, Betty and Basil proved to be much better than the other sleds. They took enough weight off our shoulders to make our packs a comfortable weight. But they were light enough that they didn�t pull us off balance when side-hilling. The others had no choice but to heave their crushingly heavy burdens onto their backs.
I�m not sure how long it took to reach the col but it seemed like forever. As we arrived one by one, the packs were dropped and the bodied flopped. Doug was in the worst shape, having developed a serious knot/muscle spasm in his right shoulder. My place on the trip was earned as I did a little physio magic on him, restoring his shoulder and arm function.
Fortunately, it was downhill from this point to where we set up Camp Waddington. The snow was the perfect consistency for making snow bricks and within an hour an impressive compound was created. Frank and Craig headed off to get a few turns in while the rest of us opted to rest up. We had decided to go for Waddington tomorrow since it looked like the weather was holding.
Doug, meanwhile, took this opportunity to re-evaluate the amount of food he had brought. I watched and drooled at the tasty stuff coming out of the stuffsacks: bagels, cream cheese, canned oysters, multiple types of sausage, several blocks of cheese, liver pate� There was enough food to cover an entire thermarest! Doug had seriously over packed in the food department, while I, in an effort to keep my pack from being in the painfully heavy range, had opted to go light. Too light, it turned out. I had spent the past 2 days in a state of constant semi-hunger. It was a win-win situation; I relieved Doug of some of his heavier (and yummier) food items, which helped to flesh out my meager rations into something more substantial.
We had a visitor that evening. Fred Touche wandered over from the cluster of tents a bit farther up the glacier. We knew from the not-so-white long underwear and leathery skin that this was a man who had been away from the city for a while. Turned out he was on day 13 of a grueling 21-day trip that had started up through Hell Raving Creek, a place that apparently is well deserving of this name. We heard stories of Don, who had lugged 140lbs of gear up on his own, and Tim who somehow consistently managed to avoid carrying any group gear. It sounded like a motley crew that Fred was tiring of. He was full of stories and shared a lot of helpful advice on the route up Waddington, for which we were grateful.
Thursday started very early. 3:30 am to be precise. It was the big day. Waddington day.
The sky was full of stars, a promising sign of good weather. So, we got up and silently got ready.
We left camp at 4:45 with Frank in the lead at a semi-jog, a pace that warmed us all up quickly. We were lucky. A couple of keeners from Fred�s camp had decided to do a reconnaissance run up the Diaz glacier the evening before, so we had an uptrack and a route set. We could put our minds on automatic pilot and just concentrate on moving, which is about all most of us were capable of at that hour of the morning. Unfortunately, the going was too slippery for some of us so the skis went on the pack earlier than hoped.
Our first obstacle was a bergschrund, but avalanche debris from the previous days of warm weather had filled in a good snow bridge. Then we were faced with the �gully�. We�d been looking at this gully since yesterday afternoon. From our camp, it looked very long and very vertical. Up close, though, it was happily not nearly as intimidating. Fearless Frank went on up at an incredible pace, kicking solid steps for us. The rest of us straggled behind as best as we could.
By this point, 4 climbers from Fred�s camp had caught up and began passing us. And by the time we had all reached the windy top of the gully, these guys had disappeared, leaving us yet another uptrack to follow. This was turning out to be a pretty easy route finding experience!
The footsteps continued up along northwest ridge from where we got our first glimpse of the Angel Glacier. To get onto the Angel Glacier was some fairly exposed stuff. You had to scoot straight across a steep, potential avalanche slope with a few bergshrunds below, ending up at the toe of an icefall. You then had to climb up through this icefall, which looked like it had experienced some fairly recent activity.
It was exciting, to say the least. The adrenaline kept me moving at a pace that under different circumstances I would have had difficulty maintaining.
A quick snack and then nothing ahead but a long slog up the Angel Glacier. Gabi helped to keep the motivation up since she was carrying the GPS and periodically left inspirational notes in the snow as to our elevation gain.
The final push was up a steep snow slope where the Frank and the speedy guys from Fred�s camp had kindly put in some fixed lines. I was grateful for the extra security of my prussic on this, as it would have been a long slide down. In my tired, headachy state, I didn�t have full confidence in my own abilities to prevent such an accident.
I pulled up to the top around 1:30 and it was better than I could have hoped. Although the sky was cloudless, there had been a cold wind all day but the top was miraculously sheltered from this. This meant that we were able to sit around and take in the views from nearly the highest point in BC.
Mt. Fairweather is technically the highest point in BC, but part of the mountain lies in Alberta so Waddington is considered the highest mountain in BC. We also weren�t on the tipety-top of Waddington itself as this is actually a very technical rock route. So, I guess theoretically, we were on the third highest point in the province. Still, not to bad!
The way down was, for me, almost harder than the way up. I was very tired and my headache had worsened. The turns down the top of Angel Glacier were lovely, but after that point, I went into survival stem-christie skiing mode. It wasn�t pretty and it was slow. But it was all I was capable of.
We pulled into camp at about 5:15, making the round trip a respectable 12.5 hour day.
Our long absence had, unfortunately, given the resident ravens plenty of time to discover where we had stashed some of our food. Carnage greeted us at the compound with dehydrated bits of food coating the ground. Final tally was that we had lost a total of 1.5 dinners. Annoying, but it could have been worse.
As we finally sat down to devour our steaming hot bowls of dinner, we saw some people coming down the slope underneath Mt. Cavalier. It quickly became apparent that these 2 were not very comfortable on their skis. Granted, the snow was likely quite crusty by this time. But these two were in full on survival ski mode, cutting uncontrollably across the slope, awkwardly kick turning and repeating this facing the other direction.
There is an unwritten law of back country skiing that these folks obviously were unaware of. That is that you do NOT ski over someone else�s tracks unless ABSOLUTELY necessary. As they got lower down, we watched in agony as they destroyed the perfectly symmetrical, well spaced lines created by Craig and Frank the day before. It hurt.
It turned out to be Fred and another guy from his camp. They stopped by for a visit on the way past and we were amazed to note that they still had their skins on! No wonder they skied so poorly! We all wanted to say something about the butchery we had witnessed, but conversation was dominated by the success of our day. It also came out that we had been raided by the ravens so Fred headed off to his camp to see if he could scrounge up some food for us.
True to his word, he returned with various items that his group felt they could do without: a ziplock bag of pasta and orange powder (presumably a pre-made dinner of some kind), a package of leak soup, a bag of grotty looking spaghetti and 2 bags of dehydrated veggies. It was certainly enough to make up for the food we had lost and we thanked him heartily. In the end, we never commented on the lack of ski etiquette, as how can you reprimand someone who has just saved you from experiencing a long, cold, hungry night?
Friday was yet another perfectly clear, sunny day but we allowed ourselves a bit of a sleep in after yesterday�s ordeal. As we were futzing about over breakfast, 4 people in what seemed to be a uniform of beige and white came to visit. They were a group from Calgary, camped a bit further down the glacier. They were hoping to do Waddington during their 10-day stint and had a few questions for us. They also invited us round for a nip of port that evening, which got us very excited!
Mt. Cavalier was the last peak in the area left to climb. We were all pretty refreshed after a long night�s sleep and lazy morning, so off we went. Once again, the route finding was already done for us as the Calgarians were doing the same thing.
Cavalier is a very enjoyable and aesthetic little peak. It starts of with the usual uphill climb in and around spectacular crevasses and finishes with an exciting, exposed, steep boot pack climb up and along a narrow ridge. The top was so pointy, it wasn�t even big enough for our whole group.
Lunch was eaten when we were back down at the Agur-Cavalier col and the afternoon was spent in pursuit of good ski runs. We found them! Gabi and I exchanged gear so that she could have some time on teles, while I tried to remember how to ski with the sensation of having my feet locked in concrete blocks. All good fun.
Saturday, we woke to a very different world: a cloudy one. It wasn�t a surprise as the Calgarians had given us this forecast. Still, it was strange as we�d gotten so spoiled with the previous 5 days of fantastic weather.
Our plan was to move camp that day, to near Mt. Finality. We were slow to get up (Craig had challenged us all to 12 hours in bed) and even slower to pack up. Just as it looked like we were approaching a state of readiness, Helen bent over the wrong way and put her back out. Thermarests came back out and we got her lying down. 30 minutes, a muscle relaxant, and some traction later, she was able to stand up fairly straight and walk slowly. But there was no way she could carry any weight. Craig strapped Betty on top of his already very large toboggan while the contents of her pack were distributed between the rest of us.
We were finally ready. But we couldn�t see anything anymore. We knew that the glacier we were on was flat and crevasse free for a time, so we figured we�d try to make it to the Calgarian camp and then re-evaluate.
It was a welcome sight seeing their camp loom out of the gloom. The Calgarians had a wonderful set up with strings of prayer flags radiating from a wooden lurk in the center of the compound. They had a deluxe toilet and had dug out a huge snow cave for bad weather. And they had luxuries like chairs and beer. But they were doing a fly in-fly out trip. We were all rather envious of them as we arrived towing all our belongings, knowing that we had many more kilometers of towing ahead.
As we all chatted and admired their arrangement, there was enough clearing for Frank to get a compass bearing off of a distant peak. It was time to push on. We took turns being first, trekking blindly forward in what one hoped was a straight line. It was an eerie, white, silent world in front of the group.
It was a slow process. Helen was stoically moving along as quickly as she could but we weren�t moving much faster due to the tentative zigzagging of the person at the front of the rope.
At 4:00, we decided to stop and set up Camp Finality. As things cleared a bit more later on, it turned out we were only 1km away from where we had hoped to be camping! There was some great teamwork that day.
The next day was our one and only tent day. It was snowing and even more socked in than the day before. Frank challenged us to 14 hours in bed, but with my rumbling tummy and exploding bladder I couldn�t make it.
It was a mellow, relaxing day of playing cards, taking naps, reading and snacking. I think my body was thrilled with the opportunity to rest, and my skin was grateful for the respite from the strong sun. Meanwhile, the boys earned big brownie points by making dinner and serving it to us in our tent. What a treat!
Monday, though, our blue sky was back and our batteries recharged. Mt. Finality was the goal. For the first real time on the trip, we had to break trail as almost 30cm of snow had fallen in the past 2 days. Initially, it was pretty light and fluffy but as the day wore on, it became heavier. The last 100m up to the ski summit of Finality was brutal thigh burning up tracking.
The ski down was anything but the much anticipated floating through powder. By this point, the snow was wet heavy concrete that had a tendency to glom onto the bottom of my skis. Doug taught me an excellent tip at this point: Globstopper doesn�t just work on skins, it works on the bottoms of skis too! The second half of the run was much better.
We hoped to get some more good ski runs in, but the next slope we started up greeted us with a loud woomph, a scary warning sound of potential avalanche. We retreated quickly and some decided that their day was complete at that point.
Craig, Gabi and I, however, wanted a few more turns and found a slope close to the camp that looked pretty safe. It turned out to be the best run of the trip, up until that point. We would have gladly yo-yoed a couple more times except that clouds were rolling in fast and snow had started falling. We opted to be prudent and headed back to camp.
By Tuesday morning, these clouds had disappeared, providing us with a good day for traveling. We had a big day ahead of us as we hoped to be at Camp Jubilee that night. It was also a big day as we were 2 days ahead of schedule, which meant 2 days worth of food; weight we hadn�t counted on. Plus, we were still carrying a lot of Helen�s gear.
It was a gentle uphill to the end of the Finality Glacier, which was perfect sledding terrain. Then it got tricky as we had a long side hill. I hadn�t packed Basil very well that day. He kept flipping over and pulling me off balance as my ice axe was tied to his upper surface. It was getting irritating as every time he flipped, I had to haul him up, roll him over, and then let him go, bracing myself with my poles for the sudden tug downwards as he weighted my harness.
But then, after what seemed like the zillionth time I�d rolled him over, there was no tug. I watched in horror as I realized that somehow Basil had become detached from me! He was rocketing down the slope, making a beeline for a large crevasse! I had visions of the 6 of us crammed into Helen�s tent and having to beg more food off Doug, as those were the important contents of Basil.
Miraculously, he avoided the crevasse and I saw him as a tiny speck on the slope below, still cruising along, getting farther away with each second. I couldn�t go straight down through the crevasses and I knew by the time I worked my way around them, Basil would likely have made it to the nearest inlet. So, I shouted as loud as I possibly could.
Doug threw off his pack, which Craig just barely caught in time (we could have had 2 of them down there!) and tore off after my naughty sled. He was able to catch it without difficulty in the end as Basil had eventually flipped and self-arrested with my ice axe.
Turns out it was the metal swivel which was the cause of Basil�s bid for freedom. It broke. They weren�t such a good idea after all.
With Doug down quite a ways dealing with my renegade sled, Craig and I were left with a dilemna; we had Doug�s full pack to contend with. Fortunately, Doug had left his in sled mode, so I took it since my pack was quite light. It was a completely different sensation side hilling with a sled that weighed 80lbs vs Basil�s slim 30lbs. Every step, it felt like my harness was about to slice me in half at the waist. This ordeal did not last long as Craig decided he was feeling strong and took the sled. Fred�s group had 140lb Don, but we had 160lb Craig!
We regrouped and I was reunited with Basil, who got a thorough repacking and tightening of his lines as Doug reported he was misbehaving terribly with him too.
The next part was all downhill: steep at the start but mellowing out to a perfect grade for the majority of Confederation Glacier. It was effortless skiing as it was steep enough to keep a comfortable speed but mellow enough that there was no need to turn or snowplow. It felt like I was standing still with the scenery gliding by on either side.
The fun was over all too soon. We still had another big climb up the fairly technical Jubilee glacier before we could think of setting up camp. We roped up for most of this section. Doug and Craig did an amazing job of finding a safe route through to a point where we hoped to be able to get onto southwest ridge of Mt. Jubilee.
Attaining the ridge was our biggest challenge and our route options very limited. The best choice took us around the edges of both avalanche and icefall debris and then up a steep slope that looked like more avalanche material. We went one by one, with Fearless Frank in the lead, as usual. I watched from a safe distance, with amazement, as he appeared to run up the far slope. Where did this man get his energy from? He confessed later that it was pure adrenaline that fueled him after he had heard a large woomph partway up.
Somehow, we all found the juice to get up this last hurdle and drew on our last reserves to build a decent camp. We were on an exposed ridge and needed walls in case the wind picked up during the night. I had no energy left by this point, not even enough to keep myself warm. In fact, both Craig and I were getting dangerously cold. As always, with this group, they recognized this and bundled us off to bed. We even got supper in the tent, which helped to start the warming process.
It was a cold night and we woke up to more grim weather the next day. It was tempting to try to get a bit more sleep, but then it looked like the visibility was improving. We decided we should try moving again. By the time Camp Jubilee was packed up, though, we were losing visibility fast. We opted to try in the hopes that the clouds would come in and out, allowing us to see enough to make progress. The ropes came out and we started tentatively moving up the ridge.
The route had been described to us by several people: we had to get up and around a prominent rock outcropping and drop down the other side to be able to skirt around the base of Jubilee. This rock faded in and out of view enough that we were able to reach it. It was noon by this point, the wind was howling, and we were getting discouraged. We tried hunkering down behind a wall made from of our packs to get some shelter from the wind, but it was still pretty miserable. We ate our lunch in shivering silence.
Doug decided to go on a reconnaissance mission and came back with welcome news. Just around the corner was an area that was so sheltered from the wind, you could even feel the sun�s warmth through the clouds. We were up and around that corner as fast as possible and he was right. Unfortunately, we still could see nothing. We decided to wait for another hour to see if things improved. If not, we were camping there. Spirits were sinking. Not even Helen�s game of �Guess What I�m Thinking� could perk us up.
Doug and Craig decided to try their luck at another scouting venture. They were gone only a few minutes when Doug came running back excitedly.
�Grab your stuff! We�re moving!� Apparently there was enough visibility to get down a bit lower where we would be out of the thickest fog. So, down we went. And hallelujah, we could see.
It was a good thing we could see. The going was tricky. In fact, we almost lost Frank when he stepped through crevasses on two occasions, trying to find a safe route down.
The hardest part was the survival skiing required to get down a steep, avalanche rubble covered, sun crusted slope. Basil had to be lowered down via a series of belay stations set up by Craig and Frank. Meanwhile, between kick turns, I attempted to perfect the arms outstretched, legs spread wide stance of the scared beginner adult skier.
About an hour of moderate uphill climbing brought us to the bottom of a very steep and windy gully. Frank set the track while I busied myself with putting Basil and his contents into my pack. I did not need any downward forces to be challenging my balance on such a precarious grade. And that was the last of Basil. He was rolled up and attached to the side of my pack, where he stayed for the rest of the trip. As I heaved the much-increased weight of my pack up, I confess, I missed him already.
The climb up was strenuous and required concentration. On the ridge at the top, we were greeted with a fabulous view. The skies were clearing and we could see the water of Knight Inlet! Our final destination.
A bit more unsophisticated skiing down through more horrible sun-crust and we arrived at a suitable campsite. We knew this was our last high camp and so we savoured the views of unending peaks cut deeply by the dark green swath of Knight Inlet.
On Thursday, day 11, the sun and warm temperatures were back with us. It was tempting to just stay put another day and find some good ski runs to make up for the crap we�d had to negotiate the day before. But good sense prevailed and we packed up yet again.
We dropped into a lovely little bowl and found the best snow of our whole trip. The 30cm that had snowed a few days earlier had not been sun affected here; it was still wonderful light fluffy powder. No one could resist it. The packs were dropped and we did 2 magnificent heavenly runs.
Feeling vindicated, we hoisted our packs up once again and carried on. It was mostly traversing and side slipping at this point as we wanted to keep our height. We had one last climb ahead of us. It was similar to the very steep gully of the day before, but this time the sun was shining so we were even more concerned about avalanches. We went one at a time. I was last (as usual, since I was taking photos). The approach was a side slip down a surprisingly icy slope that had a lot of avalanche debris. I watched Helen struggle with it and felt the butterflies in my tummy; I really don�t like this sort of thing with a heavy pack on.
I started down. It was icier than I had thought. Very hard to get an edge in to slow down. Helen looked back and asked if I was all right.
�Just a bit scared. It�s pretty icy and hard to slow down� I told her. She offered some words of encouragement and then started moving towards the uphill part of the route.
I started side slipping again. I was moving much faster than I wanted to but couldn�t slow down. Until suddenly and sickeningly, my right edge dug in. With the speed I had gathered and the 50lbs on my back, though, the rest of me had too much momentum. I My body started falling, but the edge of my right ski stayed firmly embedded in the snow. I felt a series of crunches and sharp pains in my knee. Apparently, I cart wheeled but I don�t remember anything except realizing I was face down the hill, pinned under my pack. There was a strange warmness in the knee that began to transform into an ache. I knew I�d done something bad to it.
I must have screamed, because Helen was there in seconds with Frank right behind her. They managed to extricate me from my gear before the first wave of pain hit. My knee was already swelling and I could not move it. I popped one of the unpronounceable super strength Swiss painkillers, courtesy of Gabi. Now what?
Somehow, I had to get down the rest of the slope and up the steep gully. And I didn�t want to linger where I was for too long for reasons already described.
Many ideas were tossed around, but the best solution in the end was to go down on my bum with Craig in front so that I could rest my leg on his shoulders. We must have looked like an odd species of Siamese twin crab as we slowly inched our way down.
Getting up the gully was an amazing feat of strength by Uber-Frank. Doug rigged up a system with the rope whereby Frank could wear me like a backpack. Two loops, one over each of his shoulders held each of my legs, allowing his hands to be free for balancing with his poles. And he needed to balance. The slope was steep, requiring several kick turns. Before we got started, I took another painkiller, which eased me into a tingly fog and allowed me to relax for my ride up.
By the time we reached the ridge, I was feeling surprisingly good thanks to the chemicals circulating in my system. I was able to straighten my leg and stand up with the help of ski poles, but I could take no weight on the right leg. Since the next part of our route was a steep downhill of soft snow, I discovered, I could negotiate it on my own by hopping down on my left foot, using the ski poles for balance.
Then we had to traverse. I couldn�t bend the knee enough to clear the ground if I was doing anything but downhill so hopping wasn�t an option. The solution was to bring the rope back out and strap me onto Craig�s back. This was the scariest part of the entire evacuation. He was SKIING with me on his back!!!! It took supreme mental willpower not to let my mind wander to the horrible thought of how much it would hurt if we fell. To his credit, Craig kept the speed down and under control. But I was still relieved to get back to my hopping routine once the traverse was over.
The next part was a really steep downhill, too steep to comfortably hop as I kept losing my balance and falling back on my bum. So, I decided I�d just stay down and slide. It was very effective. The snow accumulated underneath me, providing a nice platform on which my right leg could rest and on which I could slide on the snow below. This part ranked as the easiest and most enjoyable section of the way out.
Then it flattened out and the snow became too rotten. My ski poles and left leg kept punching through, causing me to suddenly and painfully be taking weight on my right leg. Hopping was no longer an option.
We decided to set up camp for the night. It was 5:00 already and we were in a little clearing. The girls stayed put and organized the site, while the guys headed off on a reconnaissance mission to try to find the logging road in the hopes that it would speed things up the next day.
They returned at 7:00, an hour earlier than expected with good news. They had found a clear cut and a road that was fairly alder grown, but passable.
Friday started early as we knew we had a big day ahead of us. I was able to slide on my bum most of the way down to the road and the snow was hard enough that I could hop when necessary.
At the start of the road, the plan was to build a toboggan. They did an amazing job with a pair of skis attached at the tip with a shovel blade. It was braced around the bindings with a snow picket and a shovel handle. Lashing on a foamie made for a comfy seat. For safety, I tied my legs in and used my hands as outriggers. With Frank in front pulling and Craig behind steering me away from holes, we made amazing progress. Initially, when we hit areas where the snow had melted, I got out and hopped through. But this started happening so frequently, that my extreme ski patrollers decided to just blast on through no matter what was on the ground! I cringed every time I heard a rock underneath and made a mental note to give Helen�s skis a deluxe tune up once we were back in town.
Eventually, the alder became too thick, even for Uber-Frank. And so I started hopping. Craig, Frank and Gabi all took turns walking with me, holding particularly tricky sections of alder out of the way, and catching me when I lost my balance. Well, they caught me most of the time. I had one spectacular bail while crossing a mossy creek. I went down with a splash and felt the water rushing inside my ski pants. In a way it was a blessing in disguise, though. I was getting seriously warm and this was an efficient way to cool off.
After about an hour of this, we realized that we were making painfully slow progress. The rope came out and I was hoisted onto Doug�s back. Between Doug and Craig, I was carried for the next several kilometers. Not only did they have to carry me, they then had to retrace their steps and pick up their packs, which were in the agonizingly heavy spectrum with the addition of my gear.
It was hell for everyone. The alder kept teasingly thinning out and then tauntingly crowding in again, making the going slow with either a person or a pack on one�s back. There were several creek crossings, which involved a steep downhill, some slippery rocks and then an uphill on the other side. The footing was uncertain at the best of times.
For me, it was a haze of pain. Every time my foot caught on a branch (which was very frequent in the thick alder) it was like a knife in my knee. I tried to muffle my cries as each time I inadvertently let one out, the person carrying me slowed down and tried to be more careful. I just wanted them to keep moving and to get it over with.
Everyone managed to, externally at least, keep their spirits up. They were amazing. There was not one word of complaint or anger or frustration. I could tell from Gabi�s posture that the weight of her pack was killing her. But she kept smiling and stayed close to give me my ski poles for the brief periods of time when I was put down to hop a bit.
Helen and Frank had gone ahead to scout the trail. The odd candy bar or energy bar wrapper stuck to a branch let the group behind know that we were on the right path. The problem was that after 4.5 hours of doing double hauls of Kirsten and packs, Craig and Doug were reaching their limit.
Just in time, Frank and Helen appeared with the wonderful news that they had found a campsite by Devereux lake and it was only about 30 minutes away. Onto Frank�s back I went and the team moved on with renewed hope and energy.
True to their word, we arrived at the lake at 7:00pm. I burst into tears of gratitude at what everyone had done for me, and relief that it was finally over.
It was a lovely little lake with a big clearing for the tents. Frank busied himself with his lure, trying to catch the fish he�d been promising us from the start. Helen started making dinner. The others collected wood for a fire. Some went swimming, others just splashed a little bit. Doug cut a branch out of a tree and fashioned me a surprisingly functional crutch. I just happily sat and watched them all with an indescribable fondness. What amazing people they were. I owed them so much.
We had a lovely evening by a crackling campfire, watching the stars, reminiscing over the highlights of the past 2 weeks, and dreaming of what we were going to eat once we were back in the city.
Frank made the call to Harbour Air the next morning with Gabi�s satellite phone and booked a flight for noon. We had lots of time to linger over breakfast, laze around in the sun and dry out our stuff. The boys and Helen even took one of the dodgy looking boats out for a spin. Despite Helen�s efforts to dig up worms, alas, no fish were caught.
At 11:00, we heard the distinct sound of a small aircraft flying low. Sure enough, the yellow Harbour Air craft landed in the lake. It was an hour early and we hadn�t even started packing! Our stuff was strewn all over the ground and branches of the clearing.
Fortunately, the pilot was happy to wait for us while we madly stuffed everything into our packs. He seemed content to stand out by the dock and enjoy the beautiful tranquility of this small mountain lake.
I had to get onto Craig�s back one more time. The �dock� to get to the plane was little more than a few floating logs; not the steadiest thing for someone that had two functioning legs. With Frank behind for stability, Craig walked the plank and delivered me safely to the steps of the shiny yellow floatplane.
One last photo and then we were off. It was another gorgeous ride, taking us over the route we had just come and following the coast with its spectacular inlets. And then Vancouver appeared.
After a smooth landing, we piled out of the plane and straight to the pub. All of our shoes and real clothes were still in Penticton, where we had started from, so we were quite the sight dressed in long underwear, ski pants, and ski boots. Not to mention the two week old beards sported by the guys, and the gravity defying hair on all of us. No matter, we needed real food and a beer. The shower could wait.
We were home.