Day 2: Lost
The trail continued upwards. Then, it disappeared. There was a little snow, but not much, and the trail seemed to just vanish. With no footprints in the snow and no indication of trail, I picked a course, set a carrion and moved forward. I aimed for a spot where I could get a good view of my surroundings and possibly spot the trail. It wasn't working. I soon determined that I must have chosen poorly, so I retraced my steps, knocked down my carrion, and took the other possible path option. In my 5 minutes of wandering I stumbled across a fire ring. I made note: just in case I needed to camp suddenly, or I was really lost, I had a known place.
I rounded a bend and saw the largest carrion I've ever seen. Clearly I wasn't the first to get lost. It was about 18" tall, had 3 layers of horizontal rocks, and wasn't going anywhere. I moved forward, glad to know I was on the right track.
Then I hit a snow field. I had been following some snowshoe tracks for a while, but they disappeared (either I took a wrong turn and didn't know it, or the weather had erased them). Standing on top of a granite field there was no trail to be seen. I sited the direction I knew I needed to head and moved forward.
Soon, I started post holing. Not your average sink-6-inches-into-the-snow post holing. No, I got the good up-to-my-thighs-or-higher post holes. I'd call it awesome, but it sucked. I looked around. Snow stretched out in all directions, no edge was strategically closer than the other, and back tracking meant going up a steep incline. From my near-ground-level position I picked a path, struggled to my feet, and carefully made my way down the snow field towards a patch of earth.
I should pause here and comment that when the ranger warned me about snow I decided to pack up snow shoes, just in case. This would have been the perfect moment to stop and put them on. However, in the mighty tradition of people who have the gear and don't use it, I forgot I had them. All of my efforts were on avoiding more post holing, keeping a good line towards where I knew I should be headed, trying to find the trail or a river to follow, and not panicking. The funny thing is, I never really started to panic, but I frequently reminded myself, "You're fine. You know what you're doing. Don't panic and it'll be fine."
I paused on the damp, but not snowy, patch of ground to re-take my bearings. I was standing on the banks of a tributary. "All water runs downhill, and a tributary must meet the river," I thought. "The trail crosses the river, then into this big valley, and off the edge of the valley is Sunrise High Sierra Camp." I started following the stream. The stream widened into a marshy valley. I didn't really want to cross it, but I knew that I'd eventually have to, so I crossed and continued down stream all the while looking for the trail. Soon I saw horseshoe tracks in the muddy marsh and commented out loud, "Hmm, someone must have come off the trail to water their horses! If I follow this I'll be on the trail in no time." It worked.
A few minutes later I was walking along a well marked path, enjoying the lack of snow. Unfortunately, I was enjoying it too early. The trail was covered with patches of snow. Since it was last afternoon the snow was soft and post holing happened often. By this point I had remembered the snow shoes, but the patches of snow were too short to really justify putting on the hassle of putting them on and taking them off for what would end up being at least a mile, possibly two.
When I happened upon a snow covered downed tree that was the crossing point for a fast moving stream I assessed the situation and concluded that snowshoes would only be dangerous and I'd have to move carefully and cautiously. So I did. Nearly completely across the tree I saw I had to step on a branch to make my next move. I contemplated the likely branch location based on snow pack and put my foot down. Unfortunately, I guessed a little off center and my foot slid right off the branch and down towards the river into air. I finally stopped when my groin discovered exactly where the branch was. I moved my foot around, trying to feel for a surface that I could brace against to push myself off the branch. When I concluded that wasn't going to be an option I decided the solution was to crawl. I was no longer trying to stand, just to crawl, and that I could do and slowly pull my leg out of the snow. One benefit of crawling vs walking is that you have a greater surface area, thus reducing the chances of post holing (much the same way a snowshoe works). It worked and I safely crossed the river.
There were a few more places of snow pack where crawling was the best solution, and then, I was out of the snow and into a meadow. I know this because there were a couple of signs instructing those with stock to not graze or water them in the meadow.
Fact: The sign lied. A dirty dirty dirty lie. I was in a marsh.
I rounded a bend and saw the largest carrion I've ever seen. Clearly I wasn't the first to get lost. It was about 18" tall, had 3 layers of horizontal rocks, and wasn't going anywhere. I moved forward, glad to know I was on the right track.
Then I hit a snow field. I had been following some snowshoe tracks for a while, but they disappeared (either I took a wrong turn and didn't know it, or the weather had erased them). Standing on top of a granite field there was no trail to be seen. I sited the direction I knew I needed to head and moved forward.
Soon, I started post holing. Not your average sink-6-inches-into-the-snow post holing. No, I got the good up-to-my-thighs-or-higher post holes. I'd call it awesome, but it sucked. I looked around. Snow stretched out in all directions, no edge was strategically closer than the other, and back tracking meant going up a steep incline. From my near-ground-level position I picked a path, struggled to my feet, and carefully made my way down the snow field towards a patch of earth.
I should pause here and comment that when the ranger warned me about snow I decided to pack up snow shoes, just in case. This would have been the perfect moment to stop and put them on. However, in the mighty tradition of people who have the gear and don't use it, I forgot I had them. All of my efforts were on avoiding more post holing, keeping a good line towards where I knew I should be headed, trying to find the trail or a river to follow, and not panicking. The funny thing is, I never really started to panic, but I frequently reminded myself, "You're fine. You know what you're doing. Don't panic and it'll be fine."
I paused on the damp, but not snowy, patch of ground to re-take my bearings. I was standing on the banks of a tributary. "All water runs downhill, and a tributary must meet the river," I thought. "The trail crosses the river, then into this big valley, and off the edge of the valley is Sunrise High Sierra Camp." I started following the stream. The stream widened into a marshy valley. I didn't really want to cross it, but I knew that I'd eventually have to, so I crossed and continued down stream all the while looking for the trail. Soon I saw horseshoe tracks in the muddy marsh and commented out loud, "Hmm, someone must have come off the trail to water their horses! If I follow this I'll be on the trail in no time." It worked.
A few minutes later I was walking along a well marked path, enjoying the lack of snow. Unfortunately, I was enjoying it too early. The trail was covered with patches of snow. Since it was last afternoon the snow was soft and post holing happened often. By this point I had remembered the snow shoes, but the patches of snow were too short to really justify putting on the hassle of putting them on and taking them off for what would end up being at least a mile, possibly two.
When I happened upon a snow covered downed tree that was the crossing point for a fast moving stream I assessed the situation and concluded that snowshoes would only be dangerous and I'd have to move carefully and cautiously. So I did. Nearly completely across the tree I saw I had to step on a branch to make my next move. I contemplated the likely branch location based on snow pack and put my foot down. Unfortunately, I guessed a little off center and my foot slid right off the branch and down towards the river into air. I finally stopped when my groin discovered exactly where the branch was. I moved my foot around, trying to feel for a surface that I could brace against to push myself off the branch. When I concluded that wasn't going to be an option I decided the solution was to crawl. I was no longer trying to stand, just to crawl, and that I could do and slowly pull my leg out of the snow. One benefit of crawling vs walking is that you have a greater surface area, thus reducing the chances of post holing (much the same way a snowshoe works). It worked and I safely crossed the river.
There were a few more places of snow pack where crawling was the best solution, and then, I was out of the snow and into a meadow. I know this because there were a couple of signs instructing those with stock to not graze or water them in the meadow.
Fact: The sign lied. A dirty dirty dirty lie. I was in a marsh.
posted by granola girl at 6:30 PM
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